Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams
by lyrainthedark
Summary: A beginning is a delicate time, but Harry Potter is not destined for delicacy.  Growing up leads him to Hogwarts - and his first year at Hogwarts shows him secrets great and small - secrets that might change the Wizarding World forever.
1. Prologue: The Two Who Died

**- _Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams_ -  
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**Prologue**

_**The Two Who Died**_

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><p><em>Some say it was because she died for him; because she was the only one ever given a choice – because <em>she_ was the special one, and not really her son, who was only an infant bystander. And it was true - or seemed so - but then the boy had just begun to prove himself and he was as yet only a year old..._

_ -From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast_

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><p>It had been a terrible night – a terrible night, and it was not yet over. In the darkness of a once-quiet neighborhood, not even the stars shone down on a ruined and broken house. Smoke still rose from cinders and smoldering fragments that had once been furniture, but the scene was utterly desolate. No one moved or stirred; the silence of the night was broken only by the wail of an infant.<p>

In front of the house, quite suddenly, there was a sharp _crack _followed by the roar of a motorcycle. The _crack _was relatively faint; the motorcycle was loud and black and shining in the darkness, and on its back there was a man, wild-eyed and dark haired and panting.

The man was Sirius Black, and he was a wizard.

Sirius held a thin wand of pale wood at the ready as he threw himself off the side of the bike and let out a howl like a wounded dog at the sight of the smoking ruin.

"No! No – no, no, no..."

One hand came up to grasp his hair; the other hand was shaking, but still holding his wand – he wasn't sure why, it didn't look like there was anyone here to be wary of, anyone here to save.

_This wasn't supposed to happen! They were supposed to be safe!_

Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he wasn't even aware of it; he stumbled over the ruins at the edge of the blasted property, and his voice escaped in a croak, a cry that, had they been living, his friends would not have been able to hear.

"James...James...Lily..."

In the absolute quiet that followed his words, Sirius heard a rustle, and then the howl of the infant that had been silenced by his arriving motorcycle. His eyes widened exponentially; if the house hadn't been in danger of falling further apart at the least movement, he would have leapt straight into it, seeking the source of that cry.

"Harry!"

As it was, he had to restrain himself; carefully, he began to pace around the edge of the broken house, pinpointing the cry of the baby to a blasted, still smoking section at the back. It was only his complete and utter concentration that allowed him to hear, moments later, a _crack_ very much like the one that had accompanied his own arrival.

Instantly, he whipped around, wand at the ready, eyes alight, teeth bared in an expression of canine savagery. After a moment a huge shape stepped forward from the shadows of the street, and then stopped, shocked, and let out a mutter of woe.

"Oh, no..."

"You! Stay right there, you - ..._Hagrid_?"

The giant figure leaned forward at the sound of his name and squinted through smoke towards the young man standing by the rear corner of the house.

"Sirius...Sirius Black, what're yeh doin' here?"

At the sound of the familiar voice, the wild-haired young man let his wand drop to his side and wiped tears off his face, gesturing at the broken building beside them.

"I came to – to bring – the – the – but they're dead, Hagrid! James and Lily...James and Lily are dead!"

Hagrid's face was sorrowful, but confused; Sirius didn't give him time to think about anything but what was on his own mind.

"Hagrid, Harry's alive! He's alive in there, somehow - we've got to get him out!"

Hagrid nodded slowly.

"Dumbledore said he might still be alive, tha's why he sent me. I've got ter get him outta the house before all the muggles start comin' round. Charm won't last much longer with the house all broken up like that - Dumbledore wants me to bring Harry to Hogwarts, said he needed to see Madam Pomfrey right away. Do yeh know where he is, Sirius?"

Sirius was slightly dazed by the magnitude of Dumbledore's knowledge; as usual, he seemed to know everything almost before it happened.

_But this! Even if he somehow found out about the attack, how could he have known...that Harry would survive?_

For a moment he stood still; then the weight of a dustbin-sized hand on his shoulder, shaking him, snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Come on, Sirius! Harry - have yeh seen him? Do yeh know where he is?"

"I- no, but I heard him crying, he must be in the back of the house..."

He followed Hagrid as the huge man walked quickly toward the area in question, talking fast now.

"I was going to try to get him out, but the house is practically destroyed. I'm afraid anything I do would just make it worse - "

"Looks like we're gonna have to lift some of this outta the way – hang on..."

Carefully, stepping over the ruins of furniture and broken glass, Hagrid positioned himself at the entrance to a blocked door and began to pull away the debris. The front half of the first floor had been entirely blasted away, and part of the second floor had crashed down into the wreckage. Behind the living room, a beam had fallen from the upper floor, and was blocking off the stairs and part of the kitchen. Even Hagrid's enormous strength was not enough to move it.

"Sirius, I could use some help with this'n - "

He was straining to lift one end of the massive wooden beam, and Sirius hurried to stand beside him. Carefully, he aimed his spell.

"_Leviosa Maximus!_"

With Hagrid guiding, they carefully turned the beam away and laid it to rest across the floor. The ceiling above them seemed stable for the moment, the stairs creaky but passable. Slowly, Sirius ascended, Hagrid behind him.

The door to Harry's room had been blasted half off its hinges, and Hagrid had to force it back, squealing, to make room for Sirius to enter. In the dark room, he muttered at the tip of his wand, and a faint illumination began to prowl the darkness.

At the end of the room, at the foot of an empty crib, the circle of light revealed horror.

Lily Potter was dead. Her eyes stared straight up at the ceiling, but did not see it; her features were fixed in an expression of desperate fury.

Voldemort, the self-styled Dark Lord, was equally dead. His body, like a wax mannequin, lay lifeless and still three feet away from Lily's body, his arms still extended, fingers curled as if around a wand - as if to cast another terrible spell.

But in Lily's arms was the miracle, the impossible survivor of this carnage; little Harry Potter.

He was no longer crying, just blinking up at Sirius and reaching with his chubby arms."

"Paff? Paff! Up, Paff!"

There was a cut on his forehead and blood on his face; his cheeks were still red from the wails he had being giving out, but otherwise he seemed to be fine. His mother's hands were still wrapped around his blankets.

Swiftly, Sirius crossed the room and picked Harry up, untangling Lily's gripping fingers with care. Hagrid's voice came from outside the room; Sirius could see his eyes glittering in the doorway as he peered in.

"Sirius?"

"I've got him, Hagrid, I'm coming out -"

He stood for another moment, looking at the body of his friend, and then he spat contemptuously at Voldemort.

"You _bastard_. I almost wish you _weren't_ dead, so I could kill you myself!"

And he turned, and followed the light of his wand out the door.

"Lily...Lily's body is in there, Hagrid, and..._**His**_."

Hagrid's eyes widened.

"_You-Know-Who's_ body is in there – yeh mean – yeh _can't _mean he's _died_?"

Sirius shrugged with difficulty; saying the words out loud made them real, and he felt suddenly light-headed and empty, and at the same time as if an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. So much lost, so much gained...

"Well, tha's somethin', anyway. But yeh better give Harry to me, Sirius, so I can take him to Dumbledore."

"I'm his Godfather - "

"An' he's just lost his parents an' got cursed by the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world! Even Grindelwald didn' give Dumbledore the trouble that You-Know-Who did!"

Reluctantly, Sirius had to admit that this was probably the case.

"But you tell Dumbledore I'll be coming to get him – _soon. _I know damn well he's going to put Harry where _he _thinks is best, regardless of what's right, and I'm not going to give him the chance. It's my responsibility to take care of James' son!"

He would have continued to berate Hagrid all the way out of the house, except that this time, traveling by the light of his wand, he saw something he hadn't seen before.

"James! James -"

But a second glance was enough to tell him that his best friend, his all-but-brother, was as dead as the woman he had loved. Behind his glasses, James' eyes shone in the pale wand-light as if they were made of glass; his features were smeared with blood and sweat, but he had died smiling a hard smile, a spell on his lips. Across from his body there were whole sections of wall blasted away and scorch marks on the floor that Sirius recognized as the remnant of a particular favorite spell of James'. A hiccup of a sob shook Sirius, and he wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand.

"Now we're only three, James – a trio just won't be...a trio...won't be..."

Suddenly, Sirius' eyes were burning, and not just with tears. Hagrid looked at him in concern. Everyone – _everyone_ – knew how close Sirius and James were.

"Sirius, are yeh okay? Yeh should - "

But Sirius wasn't listening. Careless now, he was rummaging through the room, running everywhere he could, peering by wand light. Finally, frustrated, he stood next to James' body and flicked his wand.

"_Accio_ Peter Pettigrew!"

He expected to be hit by the flying body of his dead friend, but nothing happened. He felt the tug of the completed spell, but...nothing. His thoughts were racing suddenly, as if they were on fire.

_Peter was...and if he isn't here, then how could Voldemort have..._

The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning, and his features contorted with rage.

"I'll kill him! I'll kill him! To betray James – _James_! Of all the people in the world, why, why, how could he do it to James..."

Hagrid was completely confused.

"Sirius? Sirius, yeh don't seem, uh - "

"Hagrid, take Harry to Dumbledore. Take my bike, if you want. Get that cut looked at, make sure he's taken care of. If I can..."

He paused, and Hagrid stared at him for a moment; the young man's eyes were burning in the dark shadows over his wand's faint light.

"If I can, I'll be at Hogwarts by noon tomorrow to...to bring him home. I've got...business to attend to. Or Harry won't ever be safe."

It would soon be midnight; Halloween would be over, All Saint's Day just beginning. Before Hagrid could say another word, Sirius stalked over to his motorcycle. With a flick and a wiggle of his wand, the bike doubled and then tripled its size.

"There. Take that to meet Dumbledore. Goodbye, Hagrid."

He peered briefly down into the bright green eyes of the squirming infant Hagrid held, and smiled faintly.

"'Bye, Harry. See you..._soon_."

For a moment, Hagrid wondered if perhaps little Harry wouldn't be best off with his Godfather after all – not just for Harry's sake, but for Sirius'. But then, his instructions from Dumbledore had been perfectly clear, and Dumbledore always knew what was best – great man, Dumbledore...

"_Hagrid, you must go to Godric's Hollow immediately; the Potters have been attacked."_

"_You mean – James an' Lily an' Harry are -"_

"_James and Lily are most probably dead - but Harry has survived, Hagrid. First, read this paper, just in case."_

_Hagrid took a scrap upon which was written: **James, Lily, and Harry Potter reside at Number Nine, Godric's Hollow.**_

"_Now, take this portkey; it will bring you to just outside their house. Bring Harry to Poppy; it is most unlikely he has escaped Voldemort unscathed. I must get to the ministry right away -"_

"_On my way, Headmaster. Lily an' James..."_

The portkey had dragged him out of the Headmaster's office while he was still shaking his head; so many deaths, and for what? A madman's dream. Hagrid was no genius, but he knew bad when he saw it...and worse.

He was brought out of his memory by Sirius' departure; with a quick step and a turn, there was a quiet _pop_, and Sirius vanished. Hagrid scratched his beard for a moment, staring at the spot Sirius had vacated, and then shrugged, looked down at the baby bundled in his arms.

"All right, Harry?"

Harry burbled and rubbed his runny nose against Hagrid's jacket.

"Guess so. Well, what d'yeh think about this, Harry? Wanna ride Uncle Sirius' bike?"

Hagrid eyed the machine for another moment, and then climbed on the enlarged motorcycle. With a thrum and a roar, it came to life; Harry started in his grasp, and then settled down again. Carefully, on the look out for anyone who might catch them in the act, Hagrid steered them up into the air, and then above the cloud level, where they were safe.

For an hour or so, they flew; when he next looked down, Hagrid saw that Harry's eyes had closed, and he was sleeping. With a sigh, Hagrid shook his head and reached up with one massive hand to wipe away a tear.

"Poor Harry...but at least yeh lived. That's good, yeh know – yeh lived, even though yer parents died, and so many other people...yer the boy who lived, Harry, the boy who lived!"

But no matter how hard he tried, Hagrid couldn't understand _how_ – how an infant, not yet able to walk on his own, had defeated the Dark Lord.

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><p>AN: And so it begins! This tale will attempt a few things, but first and foremost come a few chapters that deal with the horrifically mangled time-line of the night Harry became the Boy-Who-Lived, and the events surrounding and immediately following the first fall of Voldemort! And of course, dramatic changes start to accumulate almost immediately, in order to salvage both poor Dumbledore's reputation and Harry's childhood! It is my intention to make the characters into the people they were _intended_ to be, which means motives that fit and cause and effect which runs in relative (they _are_ wizards) sequence!

Spell Log: _Leviosa Maximus_: new: a stronger version of the canon _Wingardium __Leviosa_ spell; for lifting objects with a large mass and/or great weight.

_Accio_: canon: standard summoning charm; summons an object from a distance comparable Arithmantically to the power of the caster.

Please Review!


	2. Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived

**-_ Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams _-  
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**Chapter 1**

_**The Boy Who Lived**_

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><p><em>It was the greatest political coup in the Ministry of Magic in the last hundred years, and many have said that it was the public morale boost of the Boy-Who-Lived campaign which allowed the Ministry to push through the last efforts against the Death Eaters that remained after their Lord had fallen. And no one could deny the necessity; not after the horror which befell the Longbottoms...<em>

_ -From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast_

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><p>Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a very important man in other respects, tossed a pinch of sparkling powder into the fire as soon as Hagrid disappeared in the whirl of the portkey. If the attack had been on anyone else, Dumbledore would have gone himself – but he could only assume that in this instance, this single, very special instance, Hagrid would find himself in no danger at all when he arrived at his destination.<p>

He knew what it was that had come to pass.

The flames flared green and tall, and he stepped in and spoke clearly.

"Ministry of Magic, Minister's Office; password, _Unctuous._"

He disappeared in a swirl of robes and a flash of green fire. While he spun, eyes closed, past numerous grates to the Minister of Magic's office, Dumbledore condensed his thoughts, thinking over what he knew for certain.

Voldemort had found the Potters; therefore Sirius Black must have betrayed them. The life-tracers he had cast on Lily and James had dimmed and then blanked out; therefore Voldemort had killed them. Voldemort had done _something else –_ had to have, because that_ something_ had made Harry's life-tracer _flicker_ – and therefore, Voldemort had been vanquished, because Harry still lived and to his certain knowledge, that could mean only one thing.

However, when he arrived in the Minister's office, Dumbledore found, not Minister Bagnold, but her assistant, Cornelius Fudge.

"Dumbledore! Good god, you scared the wits out of me for a second there – don't tell me there's been another attack..."

Dumbledore schooled his features into one of grave concern, and nodded slowly.

"Yes and no, Cornelius. There has, indeed, been another attack; James and Lily Potter were killed by Voldemort not an hour ago."

Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall the eruption he saw coming from Fudge's mouth.

"Harry, their son, has survived. It..._appears_, though I have yet to confirm this, that in the process of attacking young Harry, Voldemort may have been...defeated. Killed."

Fudge both jumped and paled at the sound of the name, but his eyes had grown moon-sized in his surprise.

"But – Merlin's balls! Dumbledore, are you serious?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"I have to summon the Aurors – notify the Minister – if – if you're _right_, Dumbledore, then this war is finally over!"

He scrambled out of the Minister's chair and out of the office, running towards the Auror Department. Dumbledore followed more quickly than might have been expected, considering his age, and was in time to defuse Fudge's consternation. The Aurors had been unable to leave, because nobody knew where the Potters had hidden.

"Gentlemen, I believe I can be of some help. You may all accompany me to Number Nine, Godric's Hollow, if you so choose; this could be quite dangerous."

As Dumbledore spoke the address aloud, he sighed at the apparent confirmation of his suspicions. The Secret was out; Black had betrayed his friends.

There was a moment of silence, and then a clamoring of volunteers; Frank and Alice Longbottom were first, and the others were quick to follow them.

"Very well then. Shall we?"

There were several loud _cracks,_ and then Cornelius Fudge was alone in the Auror Department.

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><p>The scene of devastation in Godric's Hollow was greeted with cries of alarm and a wail from Alice Longbottom. Dumbledore was pleased to see that nothing was moving but muggles; the few wizard neighbors had recognized the sudden appearance of the house among them for what it was – a Very Bad Thing – and stayed out of sight. Hagrid, too, was nowhere to be found, so he must already have found young Harry – excellent.<p>

The Aurors immediately went to work casting muggle-repelling wards and rounding together the muggles who had come out to see the carnage. A few _Obliviate _spells were cast, convincing the muggles that the house had always been there – which, technically, it had – and that the destruction was the result of a gas explosion. Standard procedure.

Once the wards were up and the Memory Charms were complete, the muggles wandered away disinterested, and a few wizards finally came outside to ask questions. Dumbledore had entered the house at once, and was surprised to find several inexplicable things almost immediately. There was far more damage to the house than he had expected; the entire front of the lower floor had been blasted away.

Wreckage was strewn everywhere; James' body lay near the foot of the staircase, where he had obviously fallen attempting to protect his wife and son. The second floor looked comparatively untouched; carefully, gripping the railing with one hand, Dumbledore went upstairs.

It was obvious which room he needed to enter; the door was still jammed open, and the feeling of the blackest magic was as distinctive to Dumbledore's trained senses as a foul odor. Inside, Voldemort's body lay face down several feet from Lily's corpse. Her fingers were bent as if still gripping something, and he realized that she must have been clutching Harry.

So – Voldemort had killed James and Lily _both_ before trying to kill Harry...surprising, given what he knew of Voldemort's reasons for attacking here, but then again...

_Severus said that he requested that Voldemort spare her. Of course, even if he attempted to do so Lily would never have sacrificed her son to save her own life. _

The likely scenario was building in his thoughts, and it gave him a clue as to what had happened. Words that he had kept safe and secret twined in his thoughts, a pale echo that gave him a shiver as he peered around at the destruction -

"_The one with the power to destroy the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and with death the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal..."_

He wondered if the prophecy had already been fulfilled, or if it was still active; a trip to the Department of Mysteries might be in order. As far as this night's events were concerned, however...

_I must see Harry. Then I will know it all. _

As he was turning away, there was a sudden, crackling sound. He turned back swiftly, and was just in time to witness Voldemort's body _crumbling_, folding inward like ancient paper that turned quickly to dust. Dumbledore noticed one then other thing that greatly disturbed him.

Voldemort's _body_ had disintegrated – but his wand had never been there. Where was his wand?

He peered around by the illumination of his own, but Voldemort's was gone.

Gone. So - who had taken it? Certainly not Hagrid! And if a Death Eater had been present...why was Harry still alive? Did he bear further protection than the Marking that prophecy had foretold?

He let out a sigh and shook his head.

_I must return to Hogwarts. I must see Harry. _

Dumbledore went down the stairs with heavier steps than those that had taken him up.

Later, he would wish he had not left.

The Aurors who went upstairs to bring the bodies down found not two, but one; the body of Lily Potter remained, but of Voldemort, there was no sign but his empty robe. The sight appalled and confused them; they had been told that only an infant survived – what did that mean? What power did the boy possess, to so completely obliterate the Darkest of Darknesses?

And so in whispers, Harry's legend began, and grew – before the night was even over; before even a hint of the truth was known.

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><p>Dumbledore was unsurprised, when he reached the Hogwarts Gate, to find Cornelius Fudge there before him. The man had probably left the Ministry as soon as the first Auror had returned reporting that Voldemort's death had been confirmed at the Potter's destroyed house. It was barely midnight, but Dumbledore felt as if he had aged a hundred years in the last hour.<p>

"Ah, Dumbledore! Excellent, shall we go up to the school together then? The Minister insisted that I examine the boy and make sure he is going to _continue_ surviving before we make any public announcements. Do you know -"

"I sent Hagrid to retrieve him from the ruins of his parent's house and bring him to Madam Pomfrey – I'm sure you remember the excellence of her care, Cornelius. I seem to remember you visiting the Hospital Wing more than once during your time at Hogwarts..."

Fudge smiled uncertainly and tried to redirect the conversation.

"Yes, of course, she's an excellent Healer...but are you sure, Dumbledore, that St. Mungo's Hospital might not be..."

"I trust Madam Pomfrey to determine the appropriate course of action. If Harry needs St. Mungo's I'm sure she'll send him there."

Dumbledore spoke firmly, and there was a considerable and pleasant silence until they reached the hospital wing. There was a flurry of activity going on inside; three students were cordoned off in three beds to the left of the door, each one with a different-colored, luminescent curse word blinking on their forehead; Dumbledore recognized two Hufflepuffs and a Ravenclaw.

They had obviously been abandoned there by Madam Pomfrey, considering their embarrassment was their own fault and they were in no pain.

The other side of the room had been closed off by curtains that could not disguise the chaos behind them; the room was loud with the noise of a squalling infant and a deliriously sobbing man, as well as Hagrid and Madam Pomfrey trying to talk over the noise.

Fudge stopped at entrance to the curtain, shocked dumb by what he was seeing. Dumbledore swept in and stopped next to the sobbing man, clutched his shoulder.

"Severus, you must go to a bed and take Dreamless Sleep. Lily's son is in need of help now, do you understand? After you have rested I will do what I can for you, but for now sleep is the best solace I can offer."

The sobbing man – Severus – stood slowly, wavering, and walked trance-like to a cabinet at the other end of the room. He reached in, grabbed a bottle, and didn't even walk to a bed before he turned it up and swallowed the whole potion. Dumbledore took a startled step towards him, but before he had a chance to do more than intend to move, Severus collapsed. His head _thunked_ alarmingly against the base of the cabinet; Dumbledore sighed, and with a flick of his wand he levitated the now-sleeping man to a bed. The potion he had drunk was, indeed, Dreamless Sleep; but even so, Severus' features remained crinkled with guilt and with grief.

With him taken care of, Dumbledore turned finally to Harry, who had quieted in Madam Pomfrey's care under the influence of a Hagrid-sized game of peek-a-boo.

"Is he all right, Poppy?"

Fudge stood silently, respectfully, staring at the little boy. Barely a toddler, and _he_ had defeated You-Know-Who?

The Healer witch finished her incantation and appeared to receive pleasing results, because she smiled sadly and nodded.

"Oh, yes...it appears that apart from the cut on his forehead, he's suffered no physical damage at all. There are residual magical signatures clinging to him, which I'd like to dispel – three Killing Curses, Albus! One is relatively faint, and one is very strong, and – the last one...Albus, it appears that he was the _victim _of the third curse! The residual signature of the spell is attached to that cut, but I don't see...I don't see how it's possible. No one has _ever _survived the Killing Curse -"

Dumbledore stared down into the glittering green eyes of the cooing boy.

"_And he will have power the Dark Lord knows not; and with death the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal..."_

The Headmaster sighed, and then shook himself.

"Regardless of what no one has ever done, it appears that young Harry _has_. Well, there is just one thing left for me to do; if you would stand a little farther back, Poppy...yes, that will do, thank you."

She stared at him uncertainly for a moment, and then drew in a sharp breath as he placed a finger on Harry's forehead, just to the right of the curse-wound, and spoke a single word.

"_Legilimens -_"

Dumbledore was immersed suddenly in a blurry infant world of half-concepts and sharp images without an ego-identity as frame of reference. Carefully, on metaphorical tiptoe, he moved through Harry's thoughts, until he encountered the set of images he desired –

_Harry's room in the Godric's Hollow house, quiet, then – NOISE – Da? Da! Da! - NOISE, light, heat, shaking, the whole world shaking. The door opening, then closing – mama! Mama? Up, in mama's arms and so everything better – NOISE, the door slamming open, a man, a strange man. Yelling – mama? Falling, the world tilting, the world sideways, and, looking up, red eyes! A flash of green light; the sound of laughter, high, and cold; pain, terrible and instantaneous...and then the laughter abruptly cut off._

Dumbledore pulled himself out of Harry's memories with little effort. The boy was staring up at him with solemn eyes, completely silent, as if he knew what he had just experienced.

"You poor boy; you poor child..."

Hagrid looked up with a sorrowful face.

"Headmaster, what're we going to do with Harry, here?"

Dumbledore sighed; he had been thinking about that since the moment he had first been reassured that the boy was alive.

"I expect he'll go to live with his mother's family in Surrey, Hagrid. James had no family left; Lily had a sister named...Petunia, I believe. She's been married herself for some time and has a small son of her own; I seem to remember that Lily was quite disappointed when her sister wouldn't allow the two boys to become playmates."

Hagrid's face crinkled strangely.

"Headmaster, what about Sirius Black? He said he'd come by noon tomorrow, an' isn't he Harry's Godfather?"

Dumbledore's face closed; the twinkle left his eyes and without it their blue was winter cold.

"Yes. But I am afraid, Hagrid, that Sirius Black is most likely responsible for Lily and James' deaths. As far as I know, he was their Secret Keeper. If he is alive and well – and _free_ – then I can't see any other solution but that he must have given them up to Voldemort."

Hagrid was suddenly very confused; of _course _Sirius was still free, and as for betraying Lily and James...well, if he had done that, wouldn't he have killed Harry, too? Why help the boy if he had meant him to die? And Hagrid had not missed Sirius' muttered words at the corpse of Voldemort...or his strange and sudden departure after Peter Pettigrew had failed to appear following his _Accio _summons.

But before he could say anything, Dumbledore had followed Fudge back out of the hospital wing.

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><p>While Harry played with Hagrid and was fussed over by Poppy, Dumbledore sat through a three hour long but infinite-feeling meeting at the Ministry of Magic. Every reporter in the magical world who could be there was there, and a few who couldn't be had sent proxies that just so happened to be in England at the time.<p>

In the background, Bartemius Crouch looked on with angry disappointment; if he had only been the one to receive Dumbledore's message, he might have been able to absolutely secure the position of Minister which was his goal. Minister Bagnold herself had shown up for this meeting, despite her extremely poor health, but she had spoken little, leaving most of the interaction to Fudge – who seemed to be using his association with the events of the evening to gain political capital.

Unfortunately, somewhere between the cheering at the death of Voldemort and the very long-winded description of Harry's "confrontation" with the Dark Lord, someone managed to append "Boy-Who-Lived" as Harry's _de facto_ title, and after that the situation spiraled completely out of control. No one wanted to hear that it had been, in all probability, _Lily_ Potter who had technically defeated Voldemort – or a fluke. Martyrs were nice, but Saviors were infinitely more useful when alive...and who could complain when it was a cute infant who was the defeater of evil?

Special morning editions of every wizarding newspaper were planned for the next day, with hyphenated headlines that exceeded even Dumbledore's aggravated expectations - _"Boy-Who-Lived, Defeats You-Know-Who"; "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Defeated at Hands of Boy-Who-Lived"; "Boy-Who-Lived Survives Killing Curse, Frees Wizarding World"; "Boy-Who-Lived, Vanquishes Dark Lord"_. There was no end to it.

Only the _Quibbler _avoided discussion of the event, preferring instead to headline a Q&A session between the Editor of said periodical and a Blundering Quabbit.

Dumbledore remained at the Ministry for several hours, and managed to prevent the Wizengamot from voting to replace Halloween with "Harry Potter Day" by the skin of his teeth. Then he retreated to his office at Hogwarts. The night was brightening toward dawn, and Dumbledore sighed as he settled into his chair; he really was getting too old for all this. The questions hadn't started yet, and for the next few days everyone would be celebrating too loudly for them – but soon the Ministry, at least, would come to its senses, and then there would be inquiries and inquests galore.

He considered for a moment, and then attempted to reach several people by Floo despite the ungodly hour. Sirius Black was unavailable; likewise, Peter Pettigrew did not respond. Remus Lupin was home, however, and he answered the headmaster's call with a wary, tired glance that was full of amber highlights. The full moon's light was less than twenty-four hours away; the Wolf-curse under which he suffered had begun to stir in his blood.

"Something you need, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore looked at Remus gravely over his glasses. Even though he was only a floating head in the fireplace, Remus still felt uncomfortable under that look from his former Headmaster.

"There's been an attack, Remus, and I'm afraid there is no easy way to say this. James and Lily have been killed by Voldemort. Only young Harry survived."

Remus' mouth opened wide in disbelief, but Dumbledore continued speaking, forcing Remus to accept his words as the truth simply because they didn't stop.

"I am trying to put together what happened...do you know which of them it was, Remus? Was it Sirius, or Peter who was the secret keeper? I have put together much of the story, but I have yet to figure out how Voldemort managed to gain access to Lily and James in the first place. The secrecy offered by the Fidelius Charm is absolute, as long as the Secret Keeper keeps the Secret. I believed it was Sirius, but I find it hard to believe..."

Remus shook his head. He would have shrugged, but grief was making his shoulders too heavy. It was difficult to keep his voice steady, especially when he wanted to hit the ancient wizard who, despite his wisdom, apparently had all the tact of a hammer to the face. Remus took a slow, deep breath.

"I don't know, Headmaster. I never asked; I'm not sure they would have told me even if I had. The last few months James hasn't – hadn't trusted me like he used. Mostly because I was doing your _work_ with the werewolves. He knows the tendency of werewolves to form pack-bonds with their own kind; I could never get him to recognize that _he _was the Alpha of my pack, because...well, he would laugh, and say that was stupid because he wasn't a werewolf."

Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"James was...an interesting young man. Well; if you don't know, you don't. But please let me know if either of them contacts you; I will do you the same favor, hmm? And Remus – with Voldemort defeated, I believe you may cease doing my "work with the werewolves", as you put it."

"Headmaster – if the Secret Keeper betrayed them...I have nothing to base this on, not a single bit of evidence, but I _know_ my friends. It – it couldn't...not Sirius, Albus. Not Sirius! In all but blood, he was James' brother. It's not that I would think that Peter would betray us, either, but._..not _Sirius. "

Dumbledore showed no reaction to Remus' _most _uncommon use of his first name.

"You knew them best, Remus. If Sirius comes to you, see that you keep him there. Guilty or innocent, there are questions he needs to answer."

And then he pulled his head back out of the Floo, and left Remus Lupin to deal with his grief in silence.

That month, that following night after a day spent drowned in grief - for the first time since it had been invented in his last year at Hogwarts, Remus did not spend all of his monthly savings on a dose of Wolfsbane Potion.

Instead, he locked himself twice as tightly in the basement of his house, and relinquished himself to the pain of the transformation. He even smiled in his last human moment, as his consciousness faded into the wolf-hunger that he could never remember...and the pain, the grief, went with it. And he was free of _feelings_, and of cares...

For a little while.

* * *

><p>AN: I've always wondered why no one would have asked the surviving members of James and Lily's little group of friends – or, if they were asked, what the answers were. So, another missing scene, a peek at Remus, and a bit of hope for Sirius Black in the form of a friend who refuses to believe in the impossible. Last chapter for tonight; more tomorrow!

Spell Log: _Obliviate_: canon: incantation used to erase a specific memory of a given subject.

_Killing Curse: _canon (elaborated): incantation: _Avada Kedavra_: strips the soul of the victim from their body, causing instant and sudden death. Only one person is known to have

_Legilimens_: canon: incantation used to enter the mind of the caster's chosen subject

_Fidelius Charm_: canon (elaborated): incantation: _Semprasecretus Fidelius_: hides a single secret in a single person, who becomes the sole possessor of that pieces of information. Only this Secret Keeper can speak, write, or otherwise transmit the secret. When properly cast, the Secret cannot be taken through Legilimency, the use of Veritaserum, or even through torture. The Secret must be _willingly_ given.

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	3. Chapter 2: The Normal Day That Wasn't

**- _Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams_ -  
><strong>

**Chapter 2**

_**The Normal Day That Wasn't**_

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><p><em>Albus Dumbledore took control of the Boy-Who-Lived the way he took control of so many other things; with sheer presence and the combined influence of his several positions. And it was lucky for the wizarding world that Dumbledore was not only powerful, but good; such power as he wielded, in the hands of a lesser man, might have destroyed us all. Yet he still listened to council, and they say that sometimes a child could make him change his mind, even when age failed in argument... <em>

_ -From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast _

* * *

><p>Early in the morning of November first, just as dawn was bruising the horizon, a cat arrived on the garden wall outside Number Four, Privet Drive. It was a tabby cat, to be precise, and it sat much more stiffly than cats usually do, with its gaze fixed on the door of number four. The cat didn't move at all. Not when Mr. Vernon Dursley, who owned number four, came out to get the paper; not an hour later when his wife, Petunia Dursley, came out to retrieve the milk.<p>

The morning was splendidly normal, which was exactly the way that Vernon and Petunia liked it to be; the breakfast table was quiet except for the occasional twitter of a late autumn bird and the banging of their year-old son Dudley's spoon on his high-chair. On his way out the door Vernon pecked Petunia on the cheek and mussed Dudley's hair, narrowly avoiding a spoonful of Cheerios aimed at his tie with a chuckle.

He was somewhat unnerved, however, to find that the cat which had been staring at him when he came blearily out to get the paper was still there. Vernon didn't like cats, or animals at all, really – and what if the thing messed on his steps? With his foot, he attempted to shoo it off, but the cat glared at him as though mortally offended and Vernon found himself desisting before he had a chance to think about it. He was forced to look down at it twice, though, because it had appeared at first that the cat was wearing glasses. It turned out to be a rather odd set of rectangular markings, thankfully not glasses at all, and Vernon rubbed his hand across his bristling mustache and climbed into his car.

Out of his rear-view mirror, he could have sworn that suddenly, the cat was reading- no, _looking at_ - a map. For the life of him he couldn't think where it had come from. He rubbed his eyes a few times and looked out the mirror again – the map was gone.

There was a _distinctly_ uncomfortable tingling at the base of his neck.

Said uncomfortable feeling only increased as he went about his daily business. On his way to work he drove past groups of people in brightly colored robes and hats who stood together in clusters, whispering. When he left at lunch to grab something sweet at the bakery, a flock of owls swooped down from the sky and left a few hundred people who had been minding their own business – including Vernon – bent over on the sidewalk with their hands over their heads.

He was beginning to be suspicious; some of those owls had looked to be carrying _packages_! Hadn't Petunia mentioned something about that once, when she had been talking about _those people_? In fact...weird strangers in robes...perhaps it **was**_ those people_!

Vernon jogged back to his office faster than he had moved in ten years, and sat for the rest of the day with his back to the window, jumping every time the phone rang or someone opened his door. Then, finally, as he was standing by his car with his keys in his hand, another group of strangely-dressed people meandered past, and he heard a lowered male voice speaking.

"_Yes, that's right – the Potters – I heard that HE went to get them last night -_"

There was muffled laughter with an edge of hysteria in it, as one of the others asked a question.

"_Rubeus tell you that?"_

"_Yeah – drunker than dragons, he was, and all worked up – and then there's the Ministry and Dumbledore who have refused to release something, which means that there's something to be released, of course -"_

And a female voice broke in.

"_And all that stuff in the Prophet this morning! But you're sure he said it was Harry? There was all that about a boy, but they wouldn't release any names because of the Ministry. How could the Potter's son -"_

"_Just a baby, that one!"_

They passed out of Vernon's hearing after that, but the uncomfortable feeling that had been bothering him all day finally grasped the roots of his hair and set his whole body shivering. _Potters_. His Petunia's sister had married someone named Potter, and both of them were part of _that crowd. _From what Petunia had told him about _those people -_

His hands were shaking as he got the key into the lock, and then the ignition, and he found himself turning to glance back over his shoulder every few minutes as he drove home - as if the people he had overheard might know, and be following him.

That night, for the first time since their marriage, Vernon sat at the table beside his wife and said nothing. He barely touched the pork chops and green beans on his plate, buttered his roll and tore it into little pieces that he didn't eat, and then spent most of the meal toying with his knife and fork as if they were strange objects he had never seen before.

Petunia's eyes grew more and more concerned each time she glanced at him. Finally, when she had finished eating and feeding Dudley, he came to a decision. Petunia had just picked up the plates from the table when he asked his question, and there was a clatter of dishes as they fell back out of her hands.

"Have you...have you heard from your sister lately, Pet?"

Petunia's hands, which had begun to shake as he spoke the word _sister,_ steadied themselves after a long moment of silence, and she began to pick up the dishes again, keeping her eyes on them.

"No. Haven't talked to her in months. Or a year, maybe. Why?"

Her lips had gone thin and hard, and Vernon gulped. It was no surprise that she was upset by the question; after all, _he_ had been the one to recommend that Petunia stay away from _those people _- even her sister - once she had told him the truth. It was usual for them to pretend that she had no family but him and Dudley since her parents died; he even had her permission to burn any letters. Still – that whispering about the Potters -

"I was thinking, today, about what you told me about _her crowd_. I heard people talking in the streets, talking about _Potters_; all dressed up in funny robes and cloaks, and really excited. A flock of owls dive-bombed downtown today – could've sworn some of them were carrying _boxes - _and there's been loads of odd stuff on the news. Heard it on the radio on the way home – shooting stars in Kent, a rainbow over London last_ night_...and there was one old man who kept swearing he'd seen old men in pointed purple hats disappear from out in front of his shop in Kensington."

Petunia had not lost her frosty expression, but there was something else - fear perhaps - in the back of her eyes as she brought the dishes out to the kitchen sink and then returned to the dining room.

"What do you think, Pet?"

She seemed to shake herself, and then:

"Nothing. It's got nothing to do with us, Vernon, and it won't. My sister knows I have no patience with her...her _unnaturalness_. Just ignore it, and it will go away."

She took Dudley up out of his high-chair, and proceeded towards the stairs, speaking over her shoulder in a more normal tone.

"Shall we watch the telly before we turn in, Vernon dear?"

He managed a sickly smile.

"Of course, Pet. I'll find something good, shall I?"

Vernon tried to convince himself that she was right; it was her sister, after all, she was the one with experience in these situations, and if Petunia said not to worry about it – well then.

She was right; it was nothing. Nothing to do with them. He repeated that thought to himself while he flipped through the channels; by the time he went to bed, he believed it.

_That_ was a mistake.

* * *

><p>While Vernon and Petunia snored, the street outside their darkened windows was itself being darkened. From the shadows, with a muffled <em>crack, <em>appeared a tall man in long star-spangled robes and a cloak of purple so deep it was almost indistinguishable from the night. The man had long white hair and a long white beard; a pointed purple hat was perched on his head. The sleeping couple in the house he was approaching would not have known his face, though he was a leader in the Wizarding World, a powerful figure in the British Ministry of Magic, a man of influence among the International Confederation of Wizards, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts School.

He was, of course, Albus Dumbledore, and he was on one last mission that an inner sense had told him might be more important that anything imposed on him by his other responsibilities.

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed as he inspected the street onto which he had appeared; all was still and silent but for the reflective flicker of some animal's eyes; a cat, perhaps. He rummaged for a moment in his cloak, and produced a small silver _something_ roughly the size of a cigarette lighter. As if it _were_ a cigarette lighter, he held it up and flicked a small protrusion with his thumb several times. As he did so, the street lamps around him began to go out, one at a time, as their allotments of illumination were sucked right past the glass bulbs and into the silver device.

When he was done, Privet Drive was completely dark. Anyone looking past their windows would have seen only the blackness of the night, and Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction as he proceeded from the corner towards number four.

The cat that had so concerned Vernon Dursley that morning was still sitting on the garden wall of number four; it appeared not to have moved at all, and fixed Dumbledore with a stern glare as he approached.

"Hello, Minerva. I suppose Hagrid told you where to find me?"

There was a rustle, like wind through grass or fine fabric, and suddenly where the cat had been there was a severe-looking older woman in a garnet-colored cloak and robes.

"Yes, Albus, though I must say -"

She fixed him with a stern glare and patted her hair, wound into a tight knot, impatiently.

"I expected you _much _earlier! I've been sitting on this wall _all day_, and -"

Dumbledore was picking through his pockets, not even looking at her.

"All day, Minerva? I had to escape invitations to a dozen parties before I could make my way out of the Ministry – infernal meetings."

Minerva only sniffed.

"You agreed to the responsibilities, don't complain about them. At any rate, you _do_ plan to tell me what's going on, don't you? Half the school was in an uproar today with students celebrating the defeat of Voldemort, and the other half was in an uproar with students _denying _the defeat of Voldemort! I had to call Aurors at _three o'clock _in the _morning _to stop the Slytherin and Gryffindor sixth and seventh years from going to war _in the library_!"

Dumbledore blinked at her mildly.

"And how is it that a Ministerial Secret of the Highest Order came to be among the students less than... three hours after it was declared secret? And while the students should have been sleeping, nonetheless..."

McGonagall flung her hands up in exasperation.

"Albus Dumbledore! You let _Hagrid_ pick up Harry - _Hagrid_! It isn't just the Ministry that's celebrating – all of England was discussing what Hagrid just happened to let loose in the wee hours of this morning at the pub...in between wailing and downing quarts of mead! And the _headlines_ this morning! I shudder to think what the school will be like tomorrow! Not to mention, my owl post came right _to_ me, while I was sitting here on this wall! Where _muggles_ could have seen!"

Dumbledore let out a long sigh.

"I...see. I should have foreseen that Hagrid wouldn't stay quietly at the castle, but I assumed he would understand, by my assignment, that I meant him to stay with Harry today. And of course the paper just can't be helped, as much as I tried to keep Harry's name quiet."

McGonagall continued to glare at him.

"Assignment? What do you mean, _assignment_? And why are you _here _in the first place, Albus? I thought number four Privet Drive was somewhere special, but -"

Dumbledore twinkled at her.

"But it is special, Minerva! Number four Privet Drive is young Harry's future home. That's why I'm here; Harry _must_ be brought to his relatives. They are the only family he has now."

There was a moment of complete silence while Minerva stared at him in disbelief.

"You – you aren't serious, Albus? You can't – you can't mean it! Bad enough that Lily and James are – are – "

McGonagall hiccoughed and wiped her eyes before she could continue.

"Bad enough he's lost his parents, but then you send him to live with _muggles_? For goodness sake, Albus, he'd be better off with...with _Hagrid_ than with muggles! At least then he'd be near magic!"

Dumbledore's eyes upon Minerva became the tiniest bit disapproving, but she didn't notice.

"Where _is_ Harry, Albus? Don't tell me you've done something foolish like send the boy by owl!"

Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted, twinkle restored, and he laughed heartily.

"How ingenious, Minerva! I believe muggles have a story about something like that...but no, no, Harry is being brought by Hagrid."

Her features settled into understanding.

"I see. His _assignment_. But don't you think it's a little late to be knocking on someone's door with an infant?"

Dumbledore eyed her speculatively, then shrugged.

"I am not knocking, Minerva. I intend to leave Harry by the door; Petunia will find him in the morning, along with a letter I have written. Now, Minerva, don't look at me like that – we'll put sleep and warming charms on him, and his blankets still carry all Lily's wards and charms. But I would rather not put us in a position to be chastised by the Ministry for revealing the existence of the magical world to Petunia's husband and young son. I would rather we had no reason for the Ministry to to be involved in this _at all_."

Minerva glared at him angrily.

"I'm going to assume that you have other, _excellent _reasons for leaving Harry here in such a manner, and that later you're going to tell me what they are. _I_ am going to stay as a cat, and make _certain_ that Harry is safe."

Dumbledore beamed and nodded.

"An excellent suggestion, Minerva!"

At that moment, there was a roar from overhead, and Hagrid descended with Harry on the bike he had borrowed from Sirius Black. There were kisses and goodbyes for Harry, and then Dumbledore waved his wand over the little bundle. Harry yawned and then turned slightly, sucking on a corner of his blanket. Carefully, Dumbledore set Harry on the doorstep, and McGonagall immediately transformed into the small tabby cat which was her _animagus_ shape. Hagrid bid Dumbledore goodbye and went to try and bring Sirius Black his motorcycle...and a message from the Headmaster.

Dumbledore walked back down the street toward the corner from which he had first appeared, and when he had reached it there was a small _click_ as he flicked his silver _un_lighter. Balls of yellow luminescence rushed back to the streetlights. In the sudden glare, he could just see the reflection of Minerva's cat-eyes in the shadow of the door of number four.

"Good luck, Harry."

Then he vanished with a _crack. _

* * *

><p>That night, while Remus howled in his cage, while Harry slept on in warmed and warded blankets, while the Ministry churned and turned inside out, Frank and Alice Longbottom returned home, exhausted, to the son that they loved, and sank onto their couch relieved that they were safe; safe at last.<p>

Voldemort was dead, the Death Eaters in hiding, They had disabled their Fidelius Charm and they had spent most of the afternoon and evening seeing family and friends for the first time since their son had been born. Neville, too, would be _safe_, now and forever. Whatever prophecy Dumbledore had feared, it had obviously not come to pass...

They were granted one peaceful hour, and then there was chaos.

Frank shoved Alice aside toward the kitchen, shouting at her as broken glass from all the windows came flying inward at once – his head turned to the door, splintering off its hinges – there was a shriek as their house-elf Toddy was blown to bits. Then Frank stood, and summoned to himself the memory of his son's birth, the expression on his wife's face, his mother's face, little Neville just opening his eyes -

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

It was not a Charm he was greatly skilled with, but in this moment of need his magic aided him with more power than he thought he had. A lion roared out of his wand, stood gorgeous and enormous, flooding his attackers with silver light. He felt, rather than heard, the pause outside, and then he gave his wand a neat _flick_ and sent the lion flashing out the door with a cry.

"Alastor Moody! Death Eaters at Green Grove!"

Frank heard laughter, deranged, female, and a shadow that he had met before in battle stood in his doorway, holding a dark, crooked wand and radiating madness. He tracked Bellatrix Lestrange with his wand, waiting...and then she spoke a word:

"_Crucio_."

He dodged, but not far enough; and then there was pain.

Pain, _pain, __**pain**_** – **a black flood of agony, pain like rivulets of fire and his nerves dragged out through his skin, pain of his muscles melting against his bones, his eyes turned to jelly in their sockets. It was pain that no nightmare could ever equal.

And then it shut off, like a switch had been pulled. He heard a young man's voice, a question:

"What has been done to our Lord, filth? Tell us the truth!"

Frank drew in a heavy breath, and spoke in a quiet voice made raspy by screaming.

"He's _dead_. The son of a bitch is _dead_, killed by an _infant_ – not so scary now, the bastard -"

This time it was that same male voice that screeched the terrible word.

"_Crucio_!"

Frank had only a single thought left at this point, a single point of light to cling to.

_Alice&Nevile&Save Them...&Save Them...&Save Them...Alice&Neville_

He felt his soul rattling against his skull. The screams spilled out of him like water that would keep running forever.

From her own place on the floor, Alice heard her husband screaming, a sound that should come from no man's mouth...and someone else, too, screaming. It went on, and on, and on – she thought it was hours, or days, or years, years that she had been listening to that scream –

Screaming that scream. Her vision flickered, revealed shadows and a figure outlined in bloody and terrible light. She heard a voice laughing in utter madness, and for the last time, the terrible word.

"_Crucio_!"

Alice tucked her son against her breast, against her body, absorbing magic and malice and not even feeling the pain, the terrible agony, the flood and the fire and the gore of her shattered thoughts - she pressed him tightly to her skin even when the one voice became many, when there was shouting, when there was fighting, when the fighting was ending...

Still she curled around her son, as if to wrap him back into her womb; curled like a caterpillar, as it lays dying on the leaves.

* * *

><p>AN: Now, having fixed that mess, let me make a comment about a few other small changes in this chapter. First, Vernon and Petunia – little changes, I know, little changes, but still important. Vernon has yet to have any real experiences with the magical world when he meets in it canon; that is slowly changing, and making him both more wary, and more curious. Second, the interaction between Dumbledore and Minerva is different; they refer to each other more intimately, as long-time friends and colleagues would. Third – note Minerva's prejudice against muggles. While she may not see it that way herself, Minerva in canon, and many other "Light" wizards, seem just as prejudiced against muggles as the Death Eaters; they just act on it differently. Like abolitionists in the early history of the anti-slavery movement, who believed slavery was wrong but not social inequality, the "Light" wizards of HP seem to believe muggles are worthless and potentially dangerous second class citizens who nevertheless should be allowed to live. Third – a "deleted scene" - the torture of Frank and Alice, fitting them into the time line in some sensible way. I feel it important to get across some hint of the terrible nature of the Death Eaters; otherwise later actions in the story make no sense.

Spell Log: _Expecto Patronum_: canon: creates a construct of light and positive emotions that can be used to send a message; primarily defensive against Dementors.

_Crucio_: canon: causes the worst pain known to man to afflict the body of the victim; Dark Arts; requires highly focused intent, the desire to cause pain.

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	4. Chapter 3: Visitor That Should Have Been

**-_ Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams_ -  
><strong>

**Chapter 3**

_**The Visitor That Should Have Been**_

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><p><em>There was an outcry when the wizarding world at large discovered that the residence of their precious Boy-Who-Lived was with muggles. Not many consider how that outcry proved that the prejudice on which Voldemort had risen to power was still strong, even after his downfall. Is it to be wondered at, then, that muggles fear wizards, when wizards seem to fear muggles just as much? Whose fear was it that spurred the Great Separation; who possesses the power to invent the more horrible death?<em>

_ -From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast_

* * *

><p>Early in the morning of November second, Vernon Dursley was woken by the screaming of his wife, and thumped downstairs to the front door immediately, brandishing a baseball bat and without stopping for his slippers.<p>

"Pet, what's wrong? What – AAAARRGGH! What is THAT?"

Petunia spoke in an acid voice, partially recovered now that Vernon had confirmed for her that she was _not _hallucinating, and turned to stare down at the bundle which had caused both of them to react so badly.

"_That_ is a baby, Vernon."

Her husband stood up straighter and pulled at his mustache discontentedly.

"Yes, I know that, Petunia, but what I want to know is _where did it come from_?"

Harry chose that moment to wake from Dumbledore's sleeping charm. He opened his eyes and stared up at the strange voices speaking over him. He burbled. Petunia looked down at him, and backed up suddenly, two full steps. Those eyes – those green eyes!

"It – it's – _he's Lily's son!_"

She stared at the cooing child for a long moment while Vernon looked at her perplexed; it was so strange, to see her sister's eyes staring out at her from another face!

"Ma? Mama?"

She almost jumped backwards, startled, then reached out reflexively for the infant - and then pulled her hands back and sniffed distastefully. What was she doing? This was obviously Lily's boy, no one else could have such eyes - and since he _was_ Lily's that meant that he would be just as – as _abnormal_ as Lily had been! An infant freak, a _magical child_!

Harry blinked at her and burbled again, and she paused, uncertain. He_ seemed_ like a normal baby, and he was quieter than her Dudley, that's for sure, but..._why was he here_?

Her eye lit on the envelope that had been tucked into Harry's blankets, and her fingers reached out and grasped it almost without volition. They trembled as she looked at it: thick parchment, with that peculiar seal of animals rampant – Lion, Eagle, Badger, and Snake. She had seen that seal before, every year that Lily went to school...and on one letter that had belonged to Petunia herself.

Slowly, she pried up the wax and opened the envelope, unfolded the parchment. Vernon was watching her with raised eyebrows and a concerned expression; he had not yet forgotten the strangeness of his experiences the previous day, and had only been hoping that there wouldn't be a repeat of it. Ever. His concern increased as he watched his wife reading and paling at the same rate.

For Petunia, the letter was like a spear, designed to reach her most painful injuries, her worst memories and feelings, and nudge them loose.

_Mrs. Petunia Dursley,_

_ I am Albus Dumbledore. Though we have never met, I believe that we corresponded once some years ago, in regards to your wish to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was saddened to later learn of your estrangement from your sister, as family ties are among the most important in both our worlds; thus, I am more saddened still by the news I must relay. At midnight on the evening of Halloween, the Dark Wizard styling himself Lord Voldemort arrived at the home where Lily, her husband James, and young Harry were secluded in hiding. They put up a brave fight in the attempt to defend their son and were successful, but it is my great misfortune to be the one to inform you that their victory came at the cost of their lives. _

_ With Lily's death, as well as her husband's, only you are left as living blood kin to young Harry, the infant who arrived with this letter. I apologize for the means I chose to leave him with you, but I could not do more. The laws of my world do not allow wizards much leeway for interaction with muggles, and while you have already been included in the knowledge of magic because of your association with your sister, the same is not true of your husband and son. While I understand that a young wife with a new child who takes on the care of another infant has quite the task in front of her, I must make clear to you the reasons why I did not place Harry with a friendly wizarding family, or one of his Godparents; why I have left him without asking, so as not to give you a chance to refuse. _

_ The Dark Wizard who killed your sister was destroyed by a power I cannot fully explain when he attempted to slay Harry in his turn. The magic that he used reflected, destroying him instead of his intended target, and so Harry survived. It is my belief that Lily directed all of her magic towards her son in her dying moments, making the conscious choice to defend him and die rather than flee. For certain reasons which I am not at liberty to reveal at this time, there is a chance that Lily was offered a such a chance to save herself, leaving her son to death. Obviously, she did not take that chance; ironically, it is likely that this single act of mercy, perhaps the only one he ever committed, may have destroyed the Dark Wizard in question._

_ Harry will be lauded as a hero in our world; by attacking him, Voldemort appears to have sealed his own fate and destroyed, or at the very least disembodied, himself. He did not work alone, however; many of Voldemort's followers continue to run rampant, and while most wizards and witches seemed to have chosen to celebrate their apparent safety, I expect many more attacks than have been usual in the coming weeks, as those followers take out their anger and frustration at the disappearance of their Lord. _

_ I come now to the main reason why Harry has been placed in your care. It appears that, either as a result of Lily's sacrifice or some other, unknown magical phenomenon, Harry has been infused with natural wards that repel those with purely evil intent. The greater part of their power appears to have been consumed in the act of deflecting the Killing Curse that destroyed Voldemort, but in the presence of his mother's blood – _your_ blood, Petunia_ – _they will remain stable and offer him and those around him protection. It is even possible they might regain more of their strength over time. _

_ What I ask of you is this, both a small thing and a great one: that you care for Harry as you would your own son. By doing so, you will ensure his survival, as well as your own protection in the event that Dark Wizards or Witches unknown decide to seek out Lily's family for revenge. Under normal circumstances, it would be difficult for me to offer you protection. However, as long as Harry lives with you, I am sure that the Ministry will ensure the best quality warding._

_ On a more pleasant note, the Enrollment Scroll has listed Harry as an incoming student of Hogwarts since the day he was born, so it is likely that his magic will be quite powerful. I expect wonderful things from him as he grows into his power, and so should you. If you find you have difficulty dealing with outbursts of accidental magic, or if you have questions in general, do not hesitate to contact me. _

_ As you may remember, letters addressed to Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts will always find me, even if sent through muggle post and not by owl. I must, however, kindly urge discretion in the matters of which you choose to write in your letters. The wrong information in the wrong hands could do great harm even now. _

_ You have my most sincere condolences for your loss. Lily was a bright and wonderful young woman; her death has dimmed the world for us all. _

_ In shared sadness, but with hope for the future, _

_ Albus Dumbledore_

_ Headmaster of Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry _

_ Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards_

_ Chief Warlock, Wizengamot_

_ Chocolate Frog Card #3,862_

The letter drifted out of her grasp. Petunia found herself unsure of whether she should laugh, or cry.

So she did both.

Her husband looked at her uncertainly, gave the infant in the basket a frosty once-over, and then reached out for the letter that had come to rest on the floor. At that, Petunia seemed to come back to herself and snatched up the letter before Vernon could grab it.

"Petunia – now, Pet, what's all this about? What – who _is_ this kid?"

Petunia took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly.

"My sister...my sister and her husband were killed Halloween night. I – you may have been right, Vernon, with what you said yesterday about _her crowd._ I must warn you to be very careful; this letter...it is from the Headmaster of Lily's old school. Where she learned _It_. Apparently...this _is_ Lily's son. This is Harry Potter."

Slowly, very slowly, Petunia reached out and picked up Harry in his bundle of blankets. As the look of horror on Vernon's face grew, she decided on a careful editing of the situation. As she had read the letter, horrible feelings had swept over her – a nasty sense of triumph, and then a terrible feeling of guilt for being even momentarily pleased that her sister had died. Now, she was more concerned with protecting herself and her family. If Albus Dumbledore wanted to help, she was inclined to let him, even if _It_ was required, so she set about convincing Vernon of this.

"The Headmaster was worried about our safety, and Harry's. As long...as long as he lives here with us, somehow _It_ will protect us. _M-magic _will."

That loved and hated word came out of her lips with difficulty.

"One of _them _went bad, apparently, and even though he's dead, he still has followers who might -"

Vernon interrupted.

"What? A cult of some sort, I expect – just that kind of thing -"

Petunia nodded with difficulty – she knew, not much, but enough to be aware that it was not _that_ _kind_ _of_ _thing_ at all.

"_Listen_, Vernon. This Headmaster – he's afraid that these followers might come after us, try to get at me or Dudley because we're kin of Lily's and she was involved in defeating this Dark Lord Moldy. So we must have the boy live with us, and we'll be safe."

She spoke quickly and sharply, but Vernon appeared to be having trouble assimilating all this. Owls, shooting stars, _extremely odd cats_ – and now Petunia's dead sister had left her _baby_ on his_ doorstep_, like some kind of medieval drama! And said baby was supposed to protect him from the Dark Lord of Mold?

"Pet, now...I'm not sure...I'm not sure that's best -"

"Vernon, you just don't understand what these people can do! I've seen some...very _strange_ things. I don't want any of them to happen to us or our son. Think of Dudley, Vernon – what if one of _them_ got hold of our precious boy? He'd be helpless!"

Vernon paled. He was not the best man, not really a _nice_ man, but he loved his son more than anything else.

"You – you just write that Headmaster fellow, and let him know we'll be happy to keep Harry until he gets these Moldy followers sorted out!"

"Right away, Vernon. And Vernon...the Headmaster doesn't know I've told you about _It_. I'm not really supposed to have done that, and I think we'd get in trouble. So if he comes -"

"Mum's the word. Won't say a thing."

* * *

><p>Fortunately, it ended up not mattering in the slightest. Dumbledore received Petunia's letter the next day, and decided to answer her questions in person. He arrived just in time to see Vernon, one-year-old Dudley, and Petunia witness a most impressive display of accidental magical levitation. Harry's cereal bowl lifted a full five feet in the air before it flipped over and finally spilled. But the little o's didn't fall to the floor; they floated gently along a frozen-moment waterfall of milk. Harry splashed it gleefully with his small spoon – and then it collapsed into an enormous mess.<p>

Dumbledore cut off Vernon's roar of rage, Petunia's whimper of horror, and Dudley's giggles with a delighted round of applause; he bowed in Harry's direction.

"Well done, Harry, well done. Accidental magic before five is rare enough, but before two? Bravo, I say!"

He was too busy beaming delightedly at Harry to notice the less than admirable responses of the other two adults in the room – or at least he appeared to be. With a wave of his wand and a calm _scourgify_, the mess of milk and cereal vanished; Petunia appeared faintly thankful, but Vernon's expression had, if anything, only become purpler.

"Now, shall we sit down, Mr. Dursley, Mrs. Dursley? I believe you sent me a letter with some questions..."

Petunia finally regained some of her wits, and turned to point at Harry.

"Yes! What do we do about – about _that_?"

Dumbledore smiled and shrugged.

"I must admit, I didn't think I'd have to worry about such things for a few years, yet, but it only confirms my expectations that Harry will be an extraordinary wizard one day. It may be messy at times, as you just saw, but accidental magic is rarely harmful. Anything you feel you can't deal with, you may of course contact me about, but in general accidental magic is merely a spontaneous, short-term "expulsion" of magic as a child's magic grows. Some children go years between bouts; a very few never have any. By the time Harry here is sixteen or seventeen, he will no longer experience accidental magic at all...and of course between now and then, the instances will decrease greatly the older he gets."

Both Petunia and Vernon looked so greatly relieved by this information that Dumbledore pursed his lips thoughtfully and made an offer he had not originally intended.

"In a few years – when Harry is six or seven, perhaps, I will bring him a training wand. They are very focused objects; they don't allow the casting of real spells, which he wouldn't be ready for anyway, but they _do_ allow for the controlled release of a child's magic. Parents often find them to be lifesavers with children who show their magic early."

Petunia looked wary at the thought of a six or seven year old with "control" of his magic. Lily had been bad enough at twelve!

"What do you mean _controlled_ release – what could he do with it? Is he going to be able to hurt us, or our Dudley?"

Dumbledore smiled reassuringly.

"No, no, nothing harmful – most training wands are spelled to perform simple Charms or Transfigurations: color-changes or levitations, lights or bubbles...they are very childish things, hardly more than toys, really."

Vernon spoke quickly.

"No levitations, Headmaster -"

Dumbledore smiled.

"Of course, if that is your preference. And we need not worry about it for a few years yet, as I said. Now – Petunia, in your letter you expressed some...ahh...financial concerns?"

Petunia paled a little, but nodded stiffly.

"Yes. Headmaster...let me make clear, I don't intend to profit from Lily's death; I know we didn't get along very well, and we haven't talked often these last few years...we were living in different worlds, she and I. But if I have to take care of her son, that's...well. Vernon and I had decided to have one child, and one child _only_, because we wouldn't want too large an age gap between siblings and to be frank, we can't afford to support our accustomed lifestyle and raise our son the way we wanted with more than one child in the house."

She sank back a little in her chair, and her husband squeezed her hand encouragingly. It was good _he _hadn't had to say all that – matter of fact, he hadn't thought about the money at all yet...but she was right. He'd not had much growing up; he'd told Petunia from the beginning that he planned on having one kid, hopefully a son he could give all the things he'd wanted, but never got. No weird nephew was going to mess that up!

Dumbledore did not require Legilimency to read Vernon's thoughts; they were plain on his face. Dumbledore shifted a little in his seat, scanning the room, and came to a decision.

"Harry's parents left Harry a great deal, but...there are particular concerns where Harry's inheritance is concerned, both because he is quickly becoming a conspicuous figure in our world, and because his father was the Last Potter; Harry is now the Last Potter. I don't think it necessary to explain all the ramifications of this to you, but it does mean that even the trust fund which was left specifically for Harry will be beyond reach until he is of wand-age – which, at the earliest, would be nine or so, if he is a responsible child and as powerful as I expect..."

Dumbledore trailed off, lost in thought, until Vernon cleared his throat loudly. This wasn't sounding good!

"Ah – sorry. So, as I was saying, Harry's own funds will be limited for seven or eight years, at best – nine or ten is far more likely. There are certain individuals whose status and whereabouts are currently unknown who may become very involved in ensuring Harry's wellbeing, financial and otherwise, but that will remain uncertain until they are located. However...I am willing to provide a stipend for Harry's monthly support out of the war-chest of the Order of the Phoenix, the group I lead against Darkness in times of need. Harry and his parents brought down Voldemort...and his father contributed _substantially_ to the war effort's monetary need. It's only fair that the Order help Harry, now that he has helped us."

He paused, pleased by Petunia's relief and disturbed by Vernon's sudden look of greed.

"I cannot provide a lavish lifestyle for Harry or yourselves -"

He watched Vernon's face crumple.

"-But I can ensure that having Harry in your home will not be a burden; in fact if you are wise with this money, I believe that it might even profit you slightly."

Both muggles looked confused, so Dumbledore explained with a slight smile on his face.

"This money is in galleons – British wizarding money. The goblins who run our bank must convert the currency into muggle money before it can be given to muggles like yourselves...but they charge the same fee regardless of which nation's muggle currency you change it into."

Petunia still looked mildly confused, but Vernon now wore a crafty expression, and he nodded gleefully.

"I get it, Headmaster, I get it – sly of you, sir! Very sly! So your bank gives us American dollars, say, and then we can convert the dollars to pounds at our own bank?"

"Yes, exactly."

Vernon's opinion of wizards was apparently much improved by the thought of making money off them. Dumbledore couldn't say he approved, but if it secured the necessary protection for Harry -

"So, are we in agreement?"

Vernon looked up sharply.

"Hang on – you still haven't said how much money we're talking, here."

Dumbledore thought for a moment.

"Perhaps...let's say a hundred galleons a month? Taking into account fees and exchange rates, if you converted that money twice you'd probably end up with a little more than seven hundred pounds."

Vernon appeared to be salivating.

"Quite generous, I believe. All that's required from you is a caring household for your nephew, to provide -"

"Yes, yes, Dumbledore, we know what a child needs. We have one of our own, after all."

Petunia Dursley puffed up with pride, and stood and walked over to the highchair where Dudley was still strapped in. Dumbledore thought the child was alarmingly round, but said nothing; it would be rude, after all. He only hoped Harry didn't show up at Hogwarts looking like an overinflated quaffle.

"I believe another letter would be best - perhaps later this afternoon, Petunia? - with the name and account numbers of the muggle bank you normally use. I will take care of the Gringotts end of things."

Petunia nodded; she had never forgotten Lily's first trip to the wizard alley, and those strange, evil looking creatures guarding the huge bank with its terrible, roller-coaster ride carts. She was more than happy to leave the goblins to Dumbledore.

"Very well. Then I bid you good day and thank you; Mr. Dursley – Mrs. Dursley."

He bowed shortly.

"Good-bye, Harry."

With a _crack_, he disappeared. Vernon jumped slightly in his chair; Harry giggled. Petunia only let out a long sigh, and then took an even longer sip of tea. Perhaps she should put some brandy in it, and then go write that letter. At least they'd get some extra money out of all of this...perhaps they could go on vacation. Yes. A vacation would be nice; she had a feeling she'd need one.

* * *

><p>AN: And the first _real_ change begins! The visit of Dumbledore to the Dursleys at Petunia's instigation is something that should have happened; something that could have prevented the years of abuse and neglect that followed. The Dursleys, as characters, are a contradiction: if they really wanted a "normal" life, then they would treat Harry the same as their own son, while ignoring as much as possible anything "strange". Harry might think he's hallucinating occasionally, when magical things happen and the Dursleys ignore them and pass the sugar, as it were, but the way to escape the neighbor's attention is NOT by dressing your nephew in oversized rags, starving him, locking him in a cupboard, and informing everyone that he goes to a criminal school! That reflects badly on Harry, yes, but MORESO on the DURSLEYS THEMSELVES!

JK's Dursley's do two things which really harm the story as a whole – one, they _greatly _increase a sense that Dumbledore is a manipulative old bastard, no better than Voldemort. It raises the specter of a man willing to let a boy be abused and then sacrificed in the hope that evil will be defeated when those actions are in themselves evil. Two – if two is necessary - they provide a real reason for, and support for, the anti-muggle and anti-muggleborn agenda of the Pureblood element in magical society. No other muggleborn (or raised) child's life is as carefully presented to us as Harry's is, and what is shows is a world where muggle parents fear and revile their children for possessing magical gifts. What we learn about Petunia and Lily's shared childhood is not pretty, and it comes too late to make a major change in worldview; Hermione's parents show up once, are very intimidated, and then we see Hermione alone after that – even in Book 3, when Hermione is only 13, she is wandering around a magical alley next to a _dark_ magic alley alone! Then, in Book 7, we find out she's _obliviated _her parents and sent them to _Australia_! Obviously, something is very wrong here.

Oooh...I just realized how much I ranted. Oh well! Motives are _important_!

Spell Log: _Scourgify_: canon: cleaning spell used to remove average messes from most surfaces.

Please Review!


	5. Chapter 4: The Years of Silence, Part I

**- _Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams _-  
><strong>

**Chapter 4**

_**The Years of Silence: Part I**_

* * *

><p><em>The trial and subsequent incarceration of Sirius Black proved to be the most controversial legal decision since the imprisonment of Grindelwald. Many believed that he deserved no punishment at all when the atrocities of Peter Pettigrew, his <em>victim, _were made public. Others decried his two year Azkaban sentence as an abuse of influence, though no one could say whose - wishing him to serve the full twenty years a magical murder before muggles usually receives. A few, who were silenced quickly enough by the presence of Albus Dumbledore, demanded that Black be awarded for revenging the martyred pair who had been his friends..._

_ -From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast_

* * *

><p>Sirius Black returned after six months on the run with a dead body, to great outcry. He had hunted Peter Pettigrew from London to the Black Forest to Moscow and back; he gave himself up to Dumbledore and within twenty-four hours had given a confession under <em>Veritaserum<em> that led to the dismissal of all charges concerning the death of the Potters, and a conviction for the murder of Peter Pettigrew that led to a two year sentence in Azkaban.

For several months after the trial, debate raged back and forth in the media and in the Ministry – between those who wanted Sirius free, and those who wanted him to stay in Azkaban forever, and those who wanted to give him a medal.

But time passed, as it does, and with it passed public interest in events that were now receding further and further from public memory. The dead were buried, if not forgotten; the terrible horror was hidden, though things could not truly be the same again.

Books were written, and published, and read; stories were told, and the stories grew into legends and then became myths. The people still living who knew the truth – or as much of it as anyone ever knows – wore shadowed smiles in the face of the storytellers as gradually, very gradually, even the war itself began to fade like a bad dream.

The fresh-cut names on shining gravestones became rough under the pressures of wind, and weather...and the grass grew on the graves, and the flowers bloomed, and died, and bloomed again.

* * *

><p>Months had become seasons, and the seasons, years, and Harry Potter, resident of The Second Bedroom On the Left, Number Four, Privet Drive, slept peacefully through a winter night full of moon glowing on snow with a smile on his face. He had grown used to receiving beautifully wrapped and labeled packages four or five times a year in the wizarding way, so he didn't even roll over when piles began to <em>pop<em> into existence in the middle of the night. The first presents had arrived on his second Christmas, though he didn't remember many of those, and they had kept coming on all the Christmas' since.

It would be Christmas Day when he woke, and Harry had lived at Privet drive for six years. He had been seven for almost five whole months – he knew, because he marked the days off on his calendar, the one Headmaster Albus had sent him that would always have a new year. He had painstakingly labeled all the days until the September first after his eleventh birthday, because _that_ was the day he would go to Headmaster Albus' school – _Hogwarts –_ and start learning magic.

Harry didn't mind living with his Aunt Tuney and Uncle Vernon and his cousin Dudley, but he was a smart boy and very observant, and he had noticed from the time he was very small that in many ways he was an outsider from those he called _family_. Aunt Tuney was nice enough, but never warm and sweet like she was with Dudley; Harry supposed that was because she was Dudley's mother, but not his. Occasionally though, Harry caught her looking at him with a strange, soft expression, and at those times he was always able to get concessions or some kind of treat from her, just like Dudley was.

Uncle Vernon was always nicer to Dudley, too, and had once threatened to make Harry stay in the broom cupboard under the stairs. If he was honest, Harry was a little afraid of Uncle Vernon, who was _much_ bigger than him and who always looked at him with _great_ irritation when he did anything magic – but Harry had learned his Uncle's weakness, too, and so never asked him for anything except during the first few days of the month. Then, right after Headmaster Albus had come with the money for taking care of him, Uncle Vernon was in a good mood and wouldn't glare when Harry asked questions.

Dudley – well, Dudley was Dudley. He was kind of fat, and kind of lazy, but he played with Harry and often had good ideas for sneaking treats and getting out of trouble. Generally, if Harry had Dudley on his side, both his Aunt and Uncle would ignore him – and if Dudley was mad at Harry (like he had been after Harry had "accidentally" turned Dudley's favorite Mecha-Superman with Real Laser Eyes _PINK_) then his punishment would be twice as bad.

The presents had arrived, as they always did, at midnight, but Harry continued to not notice them until he woke up at the crack of dawn to be delighted. The first stack he saw, the tallest, was from Padfoot, his Godfather.

Really, Padfoot was Sirius Black, but he had told Harry to always call him Padfoot, because it reminded him of James – that was Harry's dad – and of when Harry had been a baby who could only call him "Paff".

Harry had only met Sirius once; Padfoot wasn't allowed to keep Harry with him, or even visit yet, and Harry had been told that this was because Padfoot had killed a man named Peter who had hurt Harry's mum and dad. He had been gone for a while when Harry was very small, far away to a bad place to be punished, and once he was free some people – who Harry thought were _stupid – _hadthought Padfoot might be dangerous and didn't want him around a child. But Headmaster Albus had helped, and so Padfoot was allowed to meet Harry once, and send him letters and presents, and he did; sometimes for no reason, even. They were _always_ good presents; the best!

Padfoot had tried to send him a broom for flying two Christmas' ago, but Aunt Tuney had said no, so Headmaster Albus had taken him to a broom race instead, with tickets that Padfoot sent. Harry had hoped that Headmaster Albus, who was sometimes very sneaky, might have brought Padfoot, but he didn't. Instead he brought a big black dog, which he said belonged to a friend.

The dog liked Harry very much.

The second stack of presents that caught Harry's eye - only slightly smaller than the first stack - was from Headmaster Albus – _he_ always sent good presents, too. The other three piles were much smaller, but they were still exciting. The smallest one would be from his pen-pals, who he had only started writing to last September at school. His teacher, Mrs. Plum, didn't know it, but two of the three of them were wizards, just like him; Harry thought Headmaster Albus had something to do with that.

The other two piles of gifts were from people he hadn't met yet, and hadn't heard much about. Friends of his parents sent him things, and they were the fourth stack. People who didn't know them or Harry, but who were happy because Harry and his parents had defeated a Bad Guy, were the fifth pile - they tended to be pretty random.

Mostly, they were new people all the time, but a few individuals sent him gifts every birthday and Christmas. A lady named Amelia was one; Headmaster Albus had told Harry that Amelia fought Bad Guys, and that the Bad Guy Harry had defeated had hurt her whole family except for a little girl Harry's age.

Another person who always sent gifts didn't ever sign them, but always included a lily flower in the gift. The flowers were magic and never died; Harry had seventeen of them now, and could see the eighteenth partially hidden in a package in that fourth pile. The lily-person always sent Harry a present on his birthday and on Christmas - and on Halloween. Headmaster Albus said _that_ was because Harry and his parents had defeated the Bad Guy on Halloween.

Harry wished the lily-person would sign the packages, because then he could send a thank you note like he did for everyone else. The presents were always nice, usually books of some kind - but he really loved the flowers. Dudley thought it made him a sissy, and teased him about it sometimes, but Harry knew his mother's name had been Lily. He took good care of the flowers, and kept them on a shelf in his room in the expanding, green glass vase that had come with the first one.

This morning, Harry decided to open the "stranger's bundle" of packages first, and then work his way up. He had to get some of them open really fast or put them away until later, because Dudley would come in soon and if Harry had too many presents he always got mad and cried a lot. Then Aunt Tuney would wave her finger at Harry and lecture him about "flaunting" and "poor Duddykins". It was irritating, because he had never asked for all these people to send him presents, but Harry sort of understood; if Dudley had always got a bunch more presents than him, he probably wouldn't like it either. Aunt Tuney and Uncle Vernon always bought more presents for Dudley than Harry "to make up for it". Harry didn't really care; his Aunt and Uncle couldn't get magical presents, after all, and Dudley _was_ their son.

Thankfully Dudley never woke up as early as Harry, even on Christmas, so he usually had an hour or so to open gifts without needing to feel guilty.

The lily-person had sent him this Christmas' flower in a book called _Beedle The Bard's Wizarding Tales_, and Harry opened the book a crack and was pleased to see the moving pictures inside. Beneath that book were two others; one was called _The Wandless Art: An Introduction To Potions For Children_, and the second was _Wizarding Fairy Tales: True Stories of Other Realms_.

Amelia had sent him a small package – a deck of cards and a little book of games to play with them. The label made him grin: Deluxe Edition, Exploding Snap! He knew what "exploding" meant! Those cards went under his pillow right away, so that Aunt Tuney wouldn't see. A few other people had sent him gifts; another book, some sort of board game with little round, squishy pieces, a ball that lit up when he touched it and projected the stars on his ceiling, and some sort of bat-and-ball game with two racquets and an illuminated sphere. There were also a bunch of seasonal cards, which Harry put aside to answer later.

He turned to the next bundle, which was from friends of his parents. On top, like always, was the present from Moony. Moony was a werewolf, which was kind of scary and a REALLY BIG SECRET, but he was still a very nice man. This year he had sent Harry something big and flat. When he tore off the paper, he saw that it was a book with a leather cover, and opened it to find a picture of two people – his mum and dad! A note fell out, but it took Harry a moment to notice – his parents were waving at him, after all.

After a moment, he picked up the note, and read it carefully; it was very short.

_Harry, _

_ I thought that you were old enough now that you could take care of this, and would like to keep it. This book has a copy of every picture I have with your parents in it. I know it isn't a very exciting present, but I hope you'll still like it. _

_Happy Christmas, _

_Moony_

Harry more than liked the book – he loved it. His Aunt Tuney had a few – very few – pictures of his mum as a little girl, but none of her grown up and none of his father, either. Headmaster Albus had given him a wizarding photograph of his parents when he was three, and it was easily his most prized possession. Eagerly, Harry flipped through a few pages, smiling and waving back at his parents and the people who were sometimes with them. One, somewhat smaller picture with a ragged edge was labeled "Lily and the Marauders", and he saw his mum and dad with Padfoot and someone who had to be Moony.

"So _that's_ Moony...he looks sad."

Harry closed the book reluctantly, and turned to the rest of his presents. Mrs. Weasley, who was the mother of his twin wizard pen-pals as well as a friend of his parents, had sent him a card, a sweater and a box of tarts; they were still warm, and Harry snuck one quickly, muffling his giggles so his Aunt wouldn't wake and investigate. Mrs. Weasley always sent him a sweater, since as long ago as he could remember; this year's was bright green with a gold lion. There was a big box of chocolates from someone named Diggle, which Harry thought was a funny name, and a book called_ Creatures of Sea and Sky_ from Hagrid, who Harry knew had rescued him when he was a baby.

Sometimes he dreamed of flying on a motorcycle; Headmaster Albus had smiled sadly once when Harry mentioned that, and said that it wasn't just a dream – he really had been on a flying motorcycle when he was a baby, first with Padfoot, while his parents were alive, and then with Hagrid, the night he was saved. Harry had learned early the fate of his parents and the reasons for his fame, but the thought of being _famous _was something Harry had no real comprehension of. He wasn't a movie star, or a rock star, and he didn't _remember _doing anything interesting – so really, the whole thing made no sense to Harry at all.

Harry continued digging through his piles of presents, and saw two presents from new people. One was crookedly signed _Ron Weasley_, and Harry recognized the name as belonging to his twin pen-pals' younger brother, a boy Harry's age; the other had been neatly labeled **From**: _Neville Longbottom_ **To**: _Harry Potter_. Ron's package held a small, plush toy in the shape of a winged golden ball. Harry tossed it experimentally, and was surprised to find that the ball hovered and then zoomed back and forth. He caught it happily and put it by his pillow.

The package from Neville Longbottom held a box with a little row of figurines, each one labeled and gesturing accordingly, and a short note. Merlin waved his staff, Morgana brandished her wand threateningly, and the dragon stretched its wings a little while Harry read.

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_ My name is Neville Longbottom, and I am a wizard too and I am seven. My grandmother says I should write you a letter now because my writing is not so bad and to say thank you because you defeated You-Know-Who, and now we are all safe. Thank you, Harry Potter! _

_ Happy Christmas,_

_ Neville Longbottom_

Harry put the box aside carefully; he and Dudley could play with those later. It felt a little weird being thanked by strangers all the time, but Neville was his own age so Harry was mostly pleased; he set the note aside to be answered later, with his cards.

With that pile demolished, Harry turned to the little pile of pen-pal presents next. One was a normal muggle present – a picture book in three languages from Liu Chan, who lived in Hong Kong and was therefore exciting to talk to even though he was a muggle. The other two gifts were from Fred and George Weasley. Fred had sent him a Never-Out Quill that wrote in glow-in-the-dark ink; George, an Ever-Expanding roll of black parchment.

Finally, Harry turned happily to the much larger pile of presents that had come from Headmaster Albus. He was the only wizard that Harry had regular contact with, at the request of his Aunt and Uncle. They were mostly afraid of magic, and Harry understood that that was because they didn't have any.

There were seven parcels in the pile, and he opened the biggest one first. It was full of wizard robes – green ones, black ones, gold ones, blue ones – it might have been a somewhat disappointing present, except that each one had a different pattern, and all the patterns moved. The black one had little winged golden balls on it like the toy Ron had sent him; the one that began as green was solid-colored, but changed hue every minute or so while Harry was touching it; there was even one with a dragon on the back that would flap its wings whenever Harry moved his arms. He was especially pleased by a silvery-grey robe which was decorated with all four Hogwarts House animals; the Lion was chased by the Snake who was followed by the Eagle who swooped up towards the collar repeatedly to avoid the Badger.

The next box Harry picked up had a note attached.

_Happy Christmas, Harry. Please wait for me before you open this package._

He was _very_ tempted to open it, but put it aside, because if he didn't Aunt Tuney would give him lectures about being _responsible_. Those were even less fun than the ones about _flaunting_. With a sigh, Harry turned to the next present and ripped it open; inside was a large, red leather bag. Harry reached inside, and pulled out – candy! He grinned. One of his presents from Headmaster Albus was always candy, and on each gift-giving occasion Harry always tried (and failed) to hide it from his Aunt. His mouth full of sweets, Harry went through the rest of the pile with admirable speed: there was a packet of Never-Out Quills in an assortment of bright colors, a big box of luminous balloons and other party tricks, a ball that had been Charmed to Transfigure into whatever was needed for whatever sport you liked, and, finally, a large, curiously ornamented box with a key that was just as curious. Inside, there was another note from Headmaster Albus:

_Harry, this box is special. If you put something inside and turn the key, whatever you put in it will disappear. When you wish to take something out, put the key back in, think carefully about what you want, and it will re-appear. There might even be enough space inside for a large bag of sweets._

Grinning, Harry took the hint and put the red leather bag inside the box and turned the key; when he opened the box again, it was completely empty! Eagerly, he closed the lid and turned the key again, concentrating: the bag reappeared! Harry took one more chocolate from the bag, and then turned the key one last time to make it disappear again. This year, Aunt Tuney wouldn't be able to take away his candy.

Harry grinned. Wouldn't Dudley be jealous!

Finally, he turned to the last and largest pile. His Godfather seemed determined either to spoil him or ensure, at the very least, that Harry never wanted for anything; Harry couldn't complain. Aside from the broom incident, which had caused Aunt Tuney to write a long, angry letter about five year olds and the dangers of high-speed air transportation, Padfoot's presents managed to be awesome without causing difficulty.

This year, Harry noticed with both glee and trepidation that there was a long, thin package just like there had been that other year. With a pounce, he leapt on it; it was, indeed, another broom, but this one was different looking than the first. For starters, it was smaller, and there were grips for his hands and rests for his feet attached. Harry thought he could probably sit on this one with no problem. He also noticed that _this_ broom had a tag that said "Child Training Broom" on it in bright letters - so maybe Aunt Tuney wouldn't mind it so much?

Laying the broom aside carefully, Harry jumped into the rest of the pile. Quickly, he opened a beginner's Wizard Chess set, several packages of books, a huge set of wizarding figurines like the ones Neville had given him – although conspicuously missing the "Royal Icons" which had been included in the other boy's gift - and two board games Harry had never seen before. There were robes, though not as exciting as the ones Headmaster Albus had sent, and also a bunch of muggle clothes, which was good because, as Aunt Tuney said, Harry had been growing "like a weed".

In another box, wrapped with red-and-gold striped paper, were several hair-color changing potions, a jar labeled _Glutinous Glee_, six tiny sets of teeth tagged _Chatterboxes, _and, in the corner of the box, a black chest no larger than Harry's palm which had _Distraction!_ written across the top in bold, white letters.

Finally, there was only one really, _really_ big box at the very bottom left, with a few oddly shaped packages scattered around it. One of them was strangely ovoid. Harry hesitated, and then decided to leave the big one for last.

The round package turned out to be _very _exciting; it was a helmet, and Harry sensed flying motorcycle rides in his future. The thought was reinforced when another one of the oddly shaped packages turned out to hold wind-goggles. One _Gagster's Guide: Runes for Kicks and Tricks _and two mirrors later, and Harry was left staring at the giant box. He was just about to rip open one corner of it when he noticed the label – To Harry_ and Dudley_, it said. Just then his door opened, and his cousin peeked in.

"Harry! You're up! It's Christmas, Harry!"

"Yeah! Help me open this present from Padfoot! It's big!"

Dudley grinned and nodded, and he and Harry went to work on the box. When the paper came off, both of them let out a long breath and wowed in unison. The box held numerous pieces, all of them apparently shrunken, which would, when put together, make the most fantastic backyard play set either boy had ever seen – several swings, three slides – one straight, one twisty, and one physically impossible - monkey bars, climbing ropes, and some sort of swirling thing...there was a whole list of stuff. Dudley was literally going green with envy, until Harry held up the piece of wrapping paper with the label still stuck on.

"Look! Padfoot sent this present to _both _of us, see? So it's both of our present to play on, Dudley!"

Dudley looked much more cheerful all of a sudden.

"You mean it's...half mine?"

Harry nodded, pleased. He would have shared with his cousin anyway, but Dudley probably felt better knowing the present was for him, too.

"Do you think we can make dad set it up later, Harry?"

Harry looked somewhat uneasy, and peered down into the box again. He wanted to get on it and play, right away – but the backyard was all snowy and the pieces in the box were _definitely_ shrunken.

"I dunno, Dudley, I think it needs magic – why don't we wait, and I can ask Headmaster Albus? He sent me a present I can't open until he comes, so I bet he's coming tonight!"

Harry spoke excitedly; he was always happy when someone came from _his_ world, because then he either did something really fun or learned something really neat. Dudley only sighed.

"I wish _I_ was a wizard, too."

Harry looked momentarily uncomfortable, then shrugged as an idea occurred to him.

"Well, maybe you are. My mum was a witch, but our grandparents didn't have any magic - so you could be like her! Headmaster Albus says most wizards don't show any magic until our age or a little older than us, unless they're hurt or something."

Dudley smiled a little.

"You think...you really think I could be a wizard, Harry?"

Harry shrugged again.

"Dunno, but maybe. Maybe...maybe there's a test, or something; why don't you ask Headmaster Albus when he comes?"

Dudley nodded.

"Yeah – yeah, I'll do that. Let's go wake up mum and dad now, Harry, so we can open the rest of our presents!"

Harry grinned.

"Okay!"

Petunia and Vernon's morning became suddenly quite louder.

* * *

><p>AN: And so we see the first major result of the changes in Harry's childhood – it isn't miserable! I always felt there was no point in making his time with his relatives miserable – his parents are murdered, an evil megalomaniac and his followers are chasing him...Harry's life is already miserable enough without bestowing on him _all_ the potential misfortunes of mankind. Then too, there is the fact that Harry is the source for very special wards protecting him from evil...and his relatives, too – and they know it. Dumbledore, who appears every once in a while to link Harry to the wizarding world, can be the great and powerful man he was intended to be, without being perceived as a child abuser raising some sort of sacrificial lamb!

As to whether or not Dudley's wish will be fulfilled...well, you'll just have to read and see, won't you? :D

Please Review!


	6. Chapter 5: Dumbledore's Gift

**- _Harry Potter and_ _the Bridge of Dreams_ -  
><strong>

**Chapter 5**

_**Dumbledore's Gift, or The Boy Who Would Do Magic**_

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><p><em>In these later years, Harry Potter has said that it was his saving grace that he was not alone for those crucial "first moments" of magic; that he shared his Art with those closest to him as best he was able, because they appreciated what his power could do more than he did. It was odd, he said. Odd, and at first painful, how quickly they changed their minds about magic when the power of a wand was not in his hands alone...<em>

_ -From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast_

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><p>In the evening, after dinner was done with and Vernon was snoring in his favorite chair in front of an <em>A Christmas Carol <em>re-run with his eggnog by his elbow, the doorbell rang and Petunia was not very surprised to see Albus Dumbledore on the other side of the door. He was dressed in red velvet robes and a matching pointed hat; with his white beard and hair, he looked like a Victorian-era Father Christmas.

"Happy Christmas, Petunia! I hope I'm not intruding on your holiday -"

"Happy Christmas, Headmaster – and don't worry about it. Dinner's over and done with and Vernon's taking a bit of a nap; I'll call Harry for you. Shall I bring out some hot chocolate?"

Six years had made Petunia substantially friendlier to Dumbledore, though she was still not – and probably never would be – completely happy about magic. It helped that Dumbledore knew how desperately she had wanted such powers of her own, and that he had never once mentioned it since the letter that had begun it all.

Dumbledore followed Petunia back into the house, Vanishing snow off his robe as he did so.

"Yes, thank you Petunia. Hot chocolate would be lovely."

Harry was found in his room, playing "wizards of the round table" with Dudley. Both were quick to come downstairs, Harry with his unopened package in hand, as soon as they knew who had arrived.

"Headmaster Albus!"

"Ah, Harry – I take it you received your gifts this morning? And Dudley – I hope your Christmas was a pleasant one?"

Harry began to babble immediately; Dudley just nodded and grinned.

"Yes, sir – thank you very much! The box is really nice – and look, I didn't open this one, just like the note said!"

Albus smiled with a grandfatherly twinkle in his eyes.

"Very responsible of you, Harry. Why don't you open it now, since I'm here? Dudley, would you be so kind as to see if your mother is ready to join us?"

Dudley raced off to the kitchen and then back. Petunia followed more slowly with a tray of hot chocolate and Christmas biscuits. She almost dropped it when she saw what Harry had unwrapped and was holding – a _wand_!

"Headmaster! I thought Harry wouldn't be able to -"

"Now, now, Petunia, don't worry. You may remember that shortly after Harry was placed with you, we had a brief discussion about training wands?"

Petunia nodded slowly and seemed to relax a little.

"This is one such wand; I seem to remember your husband expressing some reservations about levitating, so this particular training wand is a color-changer, only. I had thought that perhaps this would be unnecessary, but after that incident at Harry's school in September..."

Dumbledore allowed himself to trail off; Petunia shuddered delicately, remembering the _incident_. A group of boys had been taunting Harry about his glasses, and then had chased him around the school when he ran, threatening him with dire consequences if he didn't give it up. Harry's magic, apparently responding to his distress, had allowed him to _apparate_ from behind some trashcans to the roof of the school building. Dumbledore had personally _Obliviated _the school staff who had been unable to understand how a six year old had ended up two hundred feet in the air without so much as a rain-spout to climb on. For Petunia, it had been an unpleasant experience, bringing up unpleasant memories, and she was willing to do quite a bit to ensure nothing like that happened _ever_ again.

"Of course, Headmaster."

She turned to Harry.

"Now, Harry, this wand is something to be used _responsibly_, do you understand? No changing Vernon's hair odd colors, or painting a house down the street, or making all the flowers in the garden neon orange - "

Harry nodded dutifully, although in truth all those things sounded like_ great_ ideas!

"Yes, Aunt Tuney."

Dumbledore smiled a little, and then lifted his own wand.

"Watch carefully, Harry; I'm going to show you how to use _wave_, a very important wand movement. A _wave_ is how your training wand works. Petunia, may I use your couch for a demonstration?"

With great hesitation, she nodded.

"So long as you put it back afterwards -"

"Of course. Now, Harry, you position the wand like _so_ – yes, exactly – and then a small _wave –_ and _voila_!

The couch was now a startling bright yellow and purple plaid. With a wink at Harry, Dumbledore hefted the hem of his robes slightly, so that a pair of socks exactly matching the couch were visible.

"The real key to something like this is _visualization_, Harry."

At the boy's confused look, Dumbledore elaborated, performing the charm again. The couch became blue, with orange polka dots. Petunia blinked and then covered her eyes with one hand.

"Visualization – you must make a picture in your head of what you want to happen, and then allow your magic to flow through the wand. Do you remember what your accidental magic felt like, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, then nodded uncertainly, and looked down at the training wand.

"Concentrate on that feeling for a moment, and _then_ try the _wave_."

Carefully, imitating what he had seen the Headmaster do, Harry _waved_. Dumbledore corrected his grip and made him practice a few times, but it was one of the simplest wand movements and Harry appeared to be a quick study.

"Excellent, Harry! Now, you must picture what you want the couch to look like while you use that movement. Something simple is best to start with -"

But Harry had already made up his mind, and, with his eyes screwed shut, he _waved_ his wand. The couch lost its blueness and its polka-dots, and instead became once again that blindingly yellow and purple plaid. Dudley looked impressed, and reached out to poke a cushion.

"Wow, Harry!"

Harry grinned, and turned to Dumbledore.

"I did good, Headmaster Albus?"

"_Well_, Harry – you did_ well_, indeed. I take it you like my socks?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically, and the Headmaster twinkled.

"Excellent! Well Harry, you appear to have mastered the _wave_! Keep in mind that your wand can only change colors – but if you use it, that _is_ what it will do, no matter what. Don't do too much too often, or you will tire yourself out; I would suggest less than an hour of practice, _in_ _total_, each day. _Finite Incantatem."_

Harry looked slightly saddened by the couch's return to boring normalcy. Dudley, though, was squirming beside him, and Harry remembered suddenly what Dudley had wanted to know.

"Headmaster Albus – Dudley was asking, earlier, if _he_ could be a wizard. I thought that, since my mum was a witch and her parents were muggles, maybe Dudley was like her, and he could have magic too?"

Dumbledore paused thoughtfully, stroking his beard. In truth, he himself had been hopefully wondering the last several years, watching the youngest Dursley for signs of magic. Nothing had happened, at least nothing he knew of, but the boy was very pampered and never experienced any distress which might jar the magic out of him; such was usually the catalyst for muggleborn magicals.

Petunia's expression was one of some internal distress. On the one hand, if Dudley was magical, wouldn't that mean that everyone had been wrong, and Petunia was just as good as Lily? Even if she didn't have magic herself, if her son did she could feel partially vindicated. It would hurt – she had seen that already, had begun to steel herself to the pain and the longing as soon as the decision had been made to keep Harry – but it would protect Dudley, keep him safe from ever feeling a similar pain.

On the other hand, Vernon was still not very pleased by the fact that he had been interacting with _wizards_ for the last six years. As long as Petunia was normal, and only _her_ _relatives_ were involved in weirdness_ – _and Vernon had made it quite clear to the whole household that Harry was _her relative – _he wasn't too difficult to deal with. Most of the time he was out of the house anyway, involved in one business deal or another. But if _Dudley_ was magical Petunia might be in trouble with her husband; after all, if their son was abnormal, surely it would be Petunia, who was from the family of freaks, who was responsible.

The decision, however, was not to be made by Petunia, or by Vernon – or even by the Headmaster.

"Dudley, you want to be – like _them_?"

Petunia's question was hesitant; she was almost positive what the answer would be – the same answer she herself had given twenty-odd years before.

"Yes! It would be so cool!"

And then:

"Can I, mum?"

There was a certain level of uncertainty in Dudley's question; though he was only seven, he was well aware of his father's – and, to a certain extent, his mother's – dislike of magic. Anything of Harry's that was the slightest bit wizardly had to be kept upstairs, in his room, where it was out of sight. There had been an entire year, when Dudley and Harry were three, that Dudley hadn't been allowed in Harry's room, while Vernon had been slowly convinced that none of the moving toys or picture books would hurt his son.

Petunia was remembering the same incident, and wondering if there was some way, _any _way, to lighten Vernon's thoughts on the subject.

Dumbledore looked back and forth between them, Petunia, her son, and Harry, and carefully gleaned something of each of their thoughts; Petunia's worry and conflict, Dudley's desperate desire and fear of rejection, and Harry...Harry was a swirl of hope and fear and guilt that he hoped he would soon no longer have to deal with. Dumbledore smiled approvingly; it spoke well of Harry that he wished he could share his magic with his cousin, rather than his gift giving him feelings of superiority. Still, he was forced to speak the truth as he knew it as candidly as possible.

"Unfortunately, there is no real method for determining if a child is magical or not. If there was, I expect there would probably be many more witches and wizards discovered in muggle families; children who have never had a reason to use their magic, who were never threatened or hurt in a way that their magic felt it could respond, children who never had contact with anything magical."

Dumbledore sighed; this was not the first time he had considered this subject.

"Without exposure to magic, or the right type of life-threatening situation, the odds are against any talent a muggle child may have manifesting. The situation is exacerbated by the Enrollment Scroll. Wizardborn children are acknowledged as magical when they first perform accidental magic, or when their name appears on the Scroll at Hogwarts; sometimes the two events coincide. Very occasionally – such as in your case, Harry – the Enrollment Scroll will register a name when a child is born. For whatever reason, however, muggleborn children, no matter long they have had access to their magic, do not appear on the Scroll until their eleventh birthday."

Dumbledore turned and peered intently at Dudley over the rim of his glasses.

"But we should not allow logic to outmaneuver hope. Dudley, has anything strange ever happened to you? A feeling that later came true, something moving when it shouldn't have...anything like that?"

Almost immediately, Dudley shook his head; disappointed sadness spread across his face.

"No, Headmaster sir. Some things like that have happened, but it's always because of Harry, or Harry's toys when we're playing."

Dumbledore's face settled a little bit, but he was smiling more now. He hadn't expected Petunia and Vernon to allow their son to play with wizard toys, but if it was true, the boy might have been exposed to enough magic. It was an oddity in the first place that Dudley had been able to interact with Harry's things. Wizard toys shouldn't react to a muggle child; had that not presented a problem for Dudley?

He paused, considering, and then his eyes lit on Harry's new training wand.

"I have only a single suggestion, Dudley. Harry, would you allow Dudley to borrow your training wand for a moment? It is possible that your cousin is old enough, and has been exposed to enough magic, that he will be able to purposefully use any magic he possesses – even if he has yet to do so accidentally."

Harry looked momentarily disgruntled; it was _his_ new wand, and he'd only got to use it once – but it was only momentary, and then he stood and walked over to his cousin and held out the wand.

"Here, Dudley."

Dumbledore beamed approvingly.

"Now, Dudley, you were watching Harry and I when I showed him the _wave_, weren't you?"

Dudley nodded slowly, looking down at the wand in his hand with a hesitant smile that grew quickly. He was holding a _wand_ – a real, magic wand!

"Why don't you try it, Dudley – remember, it's just a gentle _wave_."

Clumsily, Dudley attempted the motion, and Dumbledore corrected his grip as he had Harry's and motioned for him to try again. After several minutes of practice, Dumbledore nodded, and then he repeated the instructions he had given Harry.

"Very good, Dudley. Now, _visualize_. You must picture what you want whatever you are changing to look like; what color is your favorite?"

Dudley answered promptly.

"Blue!"

"Alright, then, shall we try for a blue teacup, Dudley?"

Dudley nodded, then squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tightened his grip on Harry's training wand. He concentrated so strongly on _blue teacup_ that his face became flushed and sweaty; carefully, he performed his _wave_.

Nothing happened; disappointment filtered through onto all the faces in the room – even Petunia's – but Dudley just grasped the wand more determinedly and set his teeth.

_Wave. Wave._

Nothing.

_Wave._

Nothing.

_Wave!_

There was something like a shimmer, and suddenly Dudley's teacup was a perfect, cerulean blue. Dumbledore's smile returned full force; Harry let out a whoop.

"Dudley, you're a wizard!"

Petunia took a gasping breath and then let out it in a rush.

"Dud – Dudley, you're a _wizard_!"

Dumbledore stood and waved his wand carelessly towards the teacup; it reverted to its previous pattern, and Dudley looked mildly disappointed until his attention was distracted by the wand again and he grinned widely at Harry.

"I am! I _am_ a wizard, just like you!"

There was suddenly a snort, and Vernon's voice rang out over the jubilation of the boys.

"What's – what's all this, then? Dumbledore, didn't know you were here -"

Dumbledore nodded in Vernon's direction and smiled slightly.

"Ah, yes – Vernon, how nice to see you on such a lovely Christmas evening. Having a good holiday, I hope?"

Vernon nodded suspiciously, and then stared down frankly at his wife and son.

"What's all this I'm hearing about our Dudder's being – being one of _them_? Finally gone round the bend, have you, Headmaster -"

His face was growing alarmingly purple, but Petunia let out a hiccup of breath and nodded.

"Vernon! It's – it's _true_, Vernon. Dudley is a w-wizard, just like – just like Harry. He just turned – he just turned his teacup _blue_ with Harry's practice-thing."

Dudley piped up.

"It's a _training_ _wand_, mum. Dad, can I get one too, can I? Since I'm a wizard too, now? This one is Harry's – I want my own!"

He was practically bouncing in place; his desire to have his own magical things was greater than his fear of his father's dislike of magic.

Vernon's mind was being forced into loops and twists as he attempted to reconcile _freaks _and _magic _with _my son_ and _is one_. He felt a sudden wash of fear, the _frisson _of terror that had accosted him the very first time he had learned magic was real. His hands tightened into fists, and he squeezed them, feeling the pulse of blood tingle in his fingers; he stared at his son for a very long moment, and then slowly, so very slowly that it was almost imperceptible, Vernon's purple color began to fade.

He had been able to fear Harry, his strangeness and his dangerous potential. He could _not _fear his son – his son, so much like him in looks and attitude, his son with whom he had planned to share so many more things...

In the bravest moment of his entire life, Vernon finally let out a low chuckle and mussed Dudley's hair.

"Little tyke; turning cups blue? I'd...I'd best not find you messing with my work clothes, or such -"

Dudley shook his head back and forth strongly; he would have agreed to almost anything to get his own magic wand.

"I won't, dad, I promise – so can I, huh, can I?"

Vernon puffed himself up importantly, and turned to Dumbledore, apparently forgetful of the fact that he had been accusing the old wizard of being mad half a minute before. Dumbledore only twinkled.

"Ah, Headmaster...I don't suppose I could...uh...ask you to find...one of those _things_ for Dudley? Don't think I'd do too well shopping for a – a – a _m-magic wand_."

The words came out only slightly strangled. Petunia looked suddenly deflated, as the disaster she had been expecting never occurred, and the truth sank more than skin deep. Dudley and Harry were jumping up and down together, hollering happily; Dumbledore only nodded in Vernon's direction and spoke over the boys.

"Of course; in fact, if you don't mind, I think I'll return Saturday afternoon. I feel I should ask you, however...would it bother you if I found a different training wand for Dudley? I ask only because it would give both boys an opportunity to become accustomed to different wand movements."

Vernon looked pleased to be asked and folded his arms pompously.

"Well, I don't know. This one that Harry has, it changes colors?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"What would a different one do?"

"Oh, there are several different options - levitations, lights, bubbles...I believe I've seen one that was a noisemaker, but it looked quite dusty."

Both Vernon and Petunia looked horrified at the thought of a magical noisemaker neither of them would be able to stop. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Yes, I imagine many parents have shared your reaction."

Vernon and Petunia exchanged glances, and then Vernon ventured a cautious suggestion.

"You said, uh...bubbles, Dumbledore? Are they..._normal_ bubbles?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose a little on his forehead.

"Ah...like those muggle blow-sticks, you mean? Hmm...well, I imagine the boys will be able to manipulate the color and shape of the bubble a bit, but yes, overall I believe they'd be relatively..._normal_."

There was the barest hint of disapproval in that last word, and Vernon gulped audibly as Dumbledore peered at him over the rim of his glasses.

"I must say, however, that I believe that you and your wife must do a great deal of thinking _and_ talking, very soon. You have never been very accepting of magic, and I understand this attitude; human beings always fear what they don't understand, and it is difficult to understand magic when you cannot practice it yourself. Many wizards have a similar attitude towards muggles, knowing that electricity and atom bombs are beyond them, but still dangerous."

Dumbledore paused and looked back and forth between Petunia and Vernon for a moment; Harry and Dudley stayed solemnly still.

"However, with not only Harry, but your own son displaying magical talent, you are going to have to come to terms with your feelings. I'm sure you wouldn't like Dudley to feel afraid of your disapproval; you must _accept_ your son's talent...truly accept it. Children are very sensitive to these things, and you mustn't imply that there's something wrong with the boys because they can do magic. After all, how will they excel if they fear their Art?"

Petunia looked over at her husband and sat a little straighter. Things had taken on a different tone than she expected, and she found herself surprised that she was not unhappy.

"Vernon, we'll have to think of it like...like he's one of those gifted boys that go to those special art schools. Just like if our Dudley was a painter or a musician. That's what my parents always said about my sister -"

She had paused to scowl briefly at unpleasant memories, but Dumbledore was nodding and beaming along with her words.

"That is quite true, Petunia! We all have our own gifts, and among Harry and Dudley's gifts is the practice of magic. You might be interested to know, as well, that Hogwarts is registered with the muggle school authorities as the Highland School for Gifted Youth. Muggleborn parents often find it easier to talk with friends and family who are not aware of magic by referring to Hogwarts this way, and it will allow you to register your son as attending school with the public authorities."

Vernon looked even less dismayed at that. Among his fondest wishes was to be able to brag about his son's accomplishments.

"You mean we could tell our neighbors and such that Dudley is going to an exclusive school?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Exactly. I realize that this must be quite the shock for you, but if you let it, it _can_ be a pleasant one. The boys will be learning strange and wonderful things; they have an ability which will make their lives both easier and more exciting. It might interest you to know that wizards have a longer natural lifespan than muggles, sometimes as much as three times as long – and that wizards are immune to muggle diseases. You've probably noticed that Harry, and perhaps Dudley, has never been sick; most unusual for muggle children their age."

Vernon looked startled.

"You're right – they _haven't_ ever been sick. Not even a sniffle; but hang on - you mean our Dudders could live to be a hundred years old?"

Dumbledore smiled gently.

"No, Mr. Dursley, I mean your son could live to be two hundred years old, or more. I myself celebrated my hundred and sixty third birthday this past spring."

Both Petunia and Vernon's jaws hung open at that.

"I believe the two of you should allow yourselves to come to terms with your son's – and Harry's – power slowly. Neither of them is dangerous, and with the training wands you should only have to worry about accidental magic in an emergency. Consider: if one of the boys was in danger, their magic would most likely react to help them – like the incident with Harry at school. Magic could save your son's life."

Dumbledore chose to end his argument there; it was obvious from the looks on the faces of the two muggles that both of them needed time to consider the evening's events.

"Now, I should take my leave, I've certainly imposed on you enough for today. I'll make a trip tomorrow to find that bubble wand, and perhaps over the weekend I can visit with Dudley's training wand and answer any more of your questions."

Petunia nodded faintly; she was still, staring at Dudley, unsure whether to give herself over to being happy for her son, or...what? Vernon, however, was taking all of this rather well – surprisingly well, actually. But then he hadn't ever really experienced magic for himself; he had only Petunia's stories of Lily and her friends to go by. He had no jealousy of magic, no desire of it for himself, but he was glad to be able to give Dudley what he wanted.

Vernon stood and walked Dumbledore to the door after he said his good-byes to the boys, and actually shook the Headmaster's hand on his way out.

"Look, uh, Headmaster...when this was only about Harry, you know, I was a little...concerned, but it didn't really have much to do with me so I didn't...well, I didn't really care much, to be honest. With Dudley involved now, though - is there a...like a book, or something, that explains m-magic? So, you know, a norm – a _muggle_ can understand it?"

It was his first wizardly word; he sounded proud of it, even if it did come out like something foreign; it was, after all – it really was. Dumbledore looked Vernon over and nodded thoughtfully.

"I do, indeed, have such a book. In fact, I think you and your wife might benefit from receiving all the pamphlets and information which we normally give to the parents of muggleborn students just before they start school. That would normally be in a few years, but in this case...I believe an exception could be made. After all, you already know magic exists; more information can only be helpful to you."

Vernon's eyebrows went up a little, but he nodded after a moment of thought.

"That would – that would be excellent. Thank you."

Dumbledore tipped his hat.

"Until the weekend, then."

With a _crack_, he disappeared.

* * *

><p>At Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall was waiting for Dumbledore with a disapproving expression ready-made. She had confirmed her own first opinion of the Dursley's – that they were the "worst sort of muggles" - when they had refused to allow any wizards or witches but Dumbledore access to their home.<p>

Dumbledore's speeches – or soothing lectures, rather – about the fear muggles naturally had of magic had done nothing to change her perspective. After all, it wasn't like _she_ was going to do any of the things muggles were afraid of, nor would anyone she associated with! She hadn't been able to comprehend that things as natural to her as breathing – such as taking on the shape of a cat – might terrify the Dursleys out of their wits.

On this evening, however, she was in for a surprise. The castle had been decorated from top to bottom for the holiday, and that included the Headmaster's office where she was waiting – it seemed, however, somehow incomplete, until Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace, brushing off his red velvet robes.

"Ah, Headmaster – and how was your visit to the muggles? Harry still doing well, I hope?"

Dumbledore beamed beatifically and spread his arms wide as he sank into his chair.

"A most excellent excursion, Minerva, thank you. Harry was quite pleased with his training wand, though as you requested I did not mention you at all."

Minerva looked both saddened and grateful.

"Thank you, Albus. It wouldn't do for Harry to have a less than excellent training wand, even if it _is_ only a color-changer. But it would be quite inappropriate for his future head of House to send him gifts; especially _unintroduced_."

Surprisingly, Dumbledore's smile didn't change in the slightest.

"You seem quite sure about Harry's future Sorting, Minerva. But about that...there are going to be some changes in the Dursley household soon, and I was hoping that you would help me with a task I've set for myself this weekend."

"Oh?"

"I've agreed to bring the muggleborn information packet to Vernon and Petunia – along with another training wand. You see, it appears that their son, Dudley, is a wizard too."

Minerva allowed herself ten entire seconds to comprehend that, and then shrugged.

"Well. We'll see if their attitude changes now, I suppose. Have you checked the Enrollment Scroll, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore shook his head.

"No, there's no need. Muggleborn students never appear on the Scroll until their eleventh birthday; you know that."

Minerva raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, but the Dursley boy isn't exactly muggleborn, now is he? His Aunt was a witch, and so is his Cousin. That might be enough for magic, Albus, even though people don't think of descent in such ways. It's happened before – remember the Hudson boy, a few years back? No one magical in his family for two generations until he came along, but he showed up on his sixth birthday. And Mariel Weild, who graduated last year. Her grandmother and two of her uncles were magical, but everyone else in her family was muggle and she popped up with her first accidental magic; I knew her Uncle Michael, you know..."

Dumbledore nodded slowly and then reached into one of his desk drawers. The scroll he pulled out was aged-looking and smooth as only vellum can be. One corner was charred, as if it had been burned, and as Dumbledore unrolled it, the vellum crackled alarmingly – but perhaps that was from power, not age. At the top, where it read _Hogwarts Enrollment_ in fancy, illuminated characters, Dumbledore placed the tip of his wand and spoke clearly:

"Incoming students, class of nineteen hundred and ninety one."

Names rolled past, so quickly that it made Minerva's eyes hurt to watch closely. Abruptly, it stopped; at the top was the year Dumbledore had requested, _1991_, and below that a list of students alphabetized by last name. The two of them scanned down the list for a Dursley, and were disappointed.

"Well, Minerva -"

"What did you say the boy's first name was, Albus?"

"Dudley; but I'm not sure how..."

Minerva reached out and tapped a name just beneath the "D" segment of the list.

"Do you think it is a coincidence, Albus, that there is now a "Dudley _Evans_" incoming this year? I've seen this list several times – it _is_ Harry Potter's incoming year, after all. I have _never_ seen that name before; I would have noticed it. And you said this evening was his first magic use – perhaps the Evans line has established itself as magical. He does get his magic from his mother's blood, after all..."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers together.

"You may be correct, Minerva; however, we cannot honestly know if this Dudley _Evans_ is Dudley _Dursley_ until the letter arrives at his home – where it will cause a good deal of chaos, I'm sure. It might be a boy who shares the same first name; we will have to wait until his eleventh birthday before we know for sure."

Minerva glared at him for a moment over her glasses with pursed lips, and then stood.

"Very well. I suppose I have no choice but to help you with this business of informing the muggles about magic – but I hope they are much changed from how I last saw them. If you have left out _one bit _of information about Harry's circumstances, Albus Dumbledore -"

But she left the threat open, and walked out of the room.

Some of the portraits on the walls were chuckling, but Dumbledore only leaned forward, took a sugar quill from the cannister on his desk, and munched it thoughtfully.

* * *

><p>AN: And so, Dudley receives magic, the next major variation from canon. There are several reasons for this, some of which spoil the story, so I'll keep them to myself. But there's a few I can share – for one, it greatly increases the chances of Petunia and Vernon accepting magic. Two, it will ease the tension between the two boys tremendously, so they have the opportunity to become real friends; three, Dudley will be saved from the attempts of his parents to make him feel "special". Finally, this means that Harry will have, from the very beginning, an ally; when he goes to Hogwarts he will be neither ignorant nor alone.

I will say this, too...no one in canon has ever explained the _origin_ of magic – why there are muggleborns, why there are squibs...in fact, no one explains why there are muggles and wizards. That question will grow in importance in this fic; in a world where purebloods claim they have the "right" to magic and others don't, explaining _why_ magic _is_ becomes _very important_!

Please Review!


	7. Chapter 6: The Years of Silence, Part II

**- _Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams _-  
><strong>

**Chapter 6**

_**The Years of Silence, Part II**_

* * *

><p><em>Of Remus Lupin, what do we know? He is said to be the bravest of wizards; his Cursed Kin call him the Wolf-Who-Walks-Unashamed. Of the wounds and the burdens he has undertaken by his work I can say nothing; he would disapprove. Still, I will say this: yes, we hear of bravery, of wrath and the works of violence which stain his war-torn past. But of his kindness, no one speaks, and what a great wrong is done! He may be the kindest man this world has ever known; he was one of the first to offer even a shadow of the loving past that Harry Potter had lost...<em>

_ -From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast _

* * *

><p>The next day, Harry and Dudley simultaneously bemoaned the fact that they had forgotten to ask the Headmaster to put together their play set, and happily celebrated Dudley's newly discovered magic. Dudley begged permission from his parents to use Harry's training wand to change the color of anything that was <em>his<em>, and received it with the proviso that the color was something that could be seen in public.

Said proviso was a response to Petunia's one nightmare that night, in which her couch had reverted to a purple-and-yellow-plaid. She had crept downstairs to check – and be relieved – but she had no desire for a repetition, or for the two boys to suddenly start wearing absurd clothes.

Still, the end result had been something she was somewhat agreeable with; Dudley's walls were now the same blue that the teacup had been, which was, if slightly startling, actually quite nice. She had told him to make his other things different shades of blue, at least, when she had begun to find his whole room a monochromatic blur, and Harry had concurred - "because it would be good practice."

The headmaster had told the truth, however, because after changing the color of everything they could get their hands on in Dudley's room, the two of them – especially Dudley – had been exhausted. They'd slept until almost noon, and she'd allowed it, but with a warning to both of them that if they weren't careful not to tire themselves with the wand she'd take it away, and only give it to them when she was watching.

Over the next several days, she and Vernon fretted over whether or not Dudley would still acknowledge their authority, since he was now aware of his magic and equally aware that they had none. Dudley's response to her threat about the wand reassured her, and suddenly, Petunia found herself thinking that magic was...perhaps not _so_ bad. After all, Dudley was her son, and Vernon's, and nobody was more normal than they were. They had even had an influence on Harry; except for the magic, he was a normal boy, too. And most of the _abnormalities_...she couldn't really complain that Dudley had never been sick, after all...or that now, in the worst of circumstances, her son would be better able to protect himself than nine tenths of the population.

Something Vernon had said the night before came back to her as she made her way up the stairs with the laundry.

"_I've always worried a little about Harry – that he might end up deranged or something, learning all this wizard stuff. After all, we don't really know anything about that father of his, and you've always said your sister was a little...well, a little _off_, Petunia. But if our Dudders is magic, now – well! We know we've raised him up right, right from the minute he was born! He loves us just like any good boy should love his parents – and he'll make sure Harry stays in line!_"

Petunia wasn't worried in the least about Harry; she hadn't been ever since the moment he had first called her _Aunt Tuney_. But she couldn't argue with Vernon, because she, too, felt better now that they knew Dudley had magic. Lily's magic had ruined Petunia's childhood; she had been afraid, more than anything, that the same thing would happen to Dudley that had happened to her; that he would grow up bitter, angry at everything he couldn't have that Harry did.

He was safe from that now, and even though she would still never have magic of her own, she would be able to live some of her secret dream through her son – _her_ son, that she had brought into the world. Didn't that mean that somewhere, hidden inside her, there was a tiny spark of magic too? A spark – a _seed_ of magic...and it had blossomed in her son.

* * *

><p>About a week after Christmas, Harry was prodded awake by a bodiless voice.<p>

"Harry! Harry...Harry? Hello, Harry? Can you hear me? It's Padfoot, Harry -"

Harry woke up blearily, peered around his room, and then jumped a little.

"Hellooooo? Harry? Haaaaa-rryyyyy..."

"Padfoot!"

"Harry? I can barely hear you, pup -"

Quickly, Harry pawed through the pile of Christmas presents that was still beside his bed until he reached the two mirrors which he had put aside without thought. One of them was still a plain mirror, but the other had Padfoot's face reflected in it.

"Padfoot! So _that's_ why you sent me mirrors! Can you hear me, now?"

"Yes, I can hear you!"

Harry lifted the little mirror and lay it on his bed.

"How come you didn't call before, Padfoot? Headmaster Albus was here on Christmas!"

"I was worried that you didn't want to talk to me when you didn't call; it _is_ bending the rules quite a bit. Then I realized I hadn't sent the instructions with the mirrors! Sorry, pup."

Sirius grinned sheepishly.

"So, the Headmaster came, huh?"

"Yeah! And guess what?"

Harry bounced in his bed excitedly.

"He gave me a training wand for Christmas, and we let Dudley try it and _he _has magic _too_!"

Sirius' reflection showed his surprise, and then he grinned.

"Really? That's great, Harry! Dudley might be a pretty powerful wizard; not many kids your age can use a training wand, and it's supposed to be harder for kids who haven't done accidental magic. But now you'll have someone to plan all your pranks with – and you won't have to go to Hogwarts by yourself! How was the rest of your Christmas?"

"Awesome! We had a really big turkey, and lots of pudding, and Headmaster Albus gave me a box that can hide anything. Your presents were the best though, Padfoot! Headmaster Albus gave me some good ones too, but me'n Dudley can't wait to play on the swings!"

"That's great, Harry, I'm glad you like them. I have some good news for you, it's why I sent the mirrors. Headmaster Albus finally convinced the Wizengamot – that's the Wizard court, Harry – that I'm not "a danger to myself or others". Said I'd had enough mind-healing now – certainly been long enough..."

Sirius snorted slightly and scowled a little, but then his grin was back.

"So, anyway, that means that I'll be allowed to visit you soon! You can't come live with me, because of your wards – remember those, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"But you'll still be able to visit on weekends and over the summer, and we'll still be able to go on trips and out for quidditch games and fun in general...which means -"

"That's why you gave me the helmet! And the goggles! Take me on your motorcycle, okay, Padfoot? Really soon! I want to fly on it again!"

"I planned on it, pup. Now, I don't know when I'll be able to come, because the Headmaster still has to set things up with your Aunt and Uncle, and explain the situation to them...but soon, alright? _Really_ soon."

Harry was vibrating with glee. He was happy enough with Aunt Tuney and Uncle Vernon, but they were _Dudley's_ parents; they didn't belong to Harry, not really. But Padfoot was Harry's, and nobody else's; Padfoot was almost like having a dad who lived far away.

"Can we go see a broom race, Padfoot? I want to go with you this time!"

Sirius smiled a private smile, and then nodded.

"Sure thing; I'll look up some tickets. What did your Aunt say about your training broom?"

Harry's smile became sneaky.

"I let Dudley see it first, and since he has magic he can fly a broom now and he wants one too! So he asked Aunt Tuney for one and _she _made him ask Uncle Vernon. But they always let Dudley have anything he wants, so Uncle Vernon told him he would make Headmaster Albus get him one!"

Harry blinked for a moment, and then remembered the point of his story.

"So I get to keep mine, too, as long as I only fly it with _supervision_. And I have to share it with Dudley if brooms are really expensive and Uncle Vernon can't 'ford another one."

"Sharing is okay, but don't let that cousin of yours bully you out of using your broom."

Harry shook his head.

"It's okay, Padfoot. Dudley's big, but he only tried to hit me once when we were small, and I got really mad and he got little blisters all over and cried _a lot_, and Headmaster Albus had to come and fix him and Uncle Vernon was mad. And then they talked and made Dudley 'pologize, and Dudley said he wouldn't try an' hurt me any more."

Sirius was grinning madly.

"Good one, Harry! But listen, we better cut this short now, 'cause I know I woke you up and I don't think you should let your relatives know about these mirrors until the Headmaster has a chance to explain to them that I've got permission to see you, okay?"

Harry nodded.

"So, it's our secret, right, Padfoot?"

"Right. Are you going to ask about the other mirror, Harry?"

Harry's eyes opened wide.

"Yeah! What's the other mirror, Padfoot?"

Sirius laughed.

"The other mirror will let you talk to Moony. Remember not to try and talk to him on the full moon though, okay Harry? He won't be able to answer you at night, and on full moon days he's _really _grumpy. Next one isn't for a couple weeks though, so -"

"Okay! Can I call him now? Can I? After you?"

"Only if you think no one will hear you – remember, the mirrors are secret, and Moony's has to stay that way. All you have to do is say Moony into his mirror – it has an M on the back. To call me, say Padfoot into this mirror; mine has a P on it. When you're done talking, say whoever's name again and _off. _Got it?"

Harry nodded.

"Got it! Bye, Padfoot!"

"Bye, pup!"

"Padfoot, off."

The mirror blanked out, and Harry hugged it for a second before putting it on his bedside table. It was early yet; he glanced at the clock, and saw it was only ten past seven.

"Aunt Tuney won't be up for another twenty minutes...and Uncle Vernon won't get up 'til eight. Alright!"

He picked up the second mirror, and looked directly into it.

"Moony!"

The image in the mirror shimmered, and Harry's reflection disappeared and left blankness. There was a moment of silence and then Harry heard a creak and someone saying hello.

"Moony! Moony, I'm in a mirror, come see!"

There were rushed footsteps, and then an unfamiliar face blinked into view with an unfamiliar room behind it.

"H-Harry? Harry! Hello! My, you look just like your father, don't you? But such brilliant eyes -"

Harry grinned proudly.

"Aunt Tuney says they're just like my mum's!"

"Indeed, they are. You've talked with Padfoot, then, Harry? I almost hexed him when he told me he forgot to send you the instructions – he's an idiot sometimes."

Harry laughed.

"I'm gonna tell Padfoot on you, Moony! And then he'll give you green hair again!"

Remus raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"Oh-ho, so he told you about that little accomplishment of his, did he? Did he tell you it lasted for a _week_?"

Harry laughed harder and nodded.

"Well just imagine, me, a Gryffindor Prefect, with _Slytherin_ _green_ _hair_! I decided that I would have to get revenge, and the night after my hair went back to normal, your father helped me give Padfoot a potion that made him _sing_ everything he wanted to _say_ – like a _girl – _for three days!"

Harry stuffed his blanket in his mouth so that he could roll around and laugh quietly.

"I won that time, but we were always getting in trouble with pranks like that; it was funny, but the Professors got a little tired of hearing Sirius sing all his answers."

Harry hiccoughed and grinned at Remus. Padfoot had told him about the "Great Green Hair Escapade" in his last letter, and how amusing werewolf-Moony had looked with green fur...but he had completely failed to mention Moony's retaliatory strike.

"Padfoot says I should watch out for Dudley, now. We found out that he has magic too!"

Remus smiled.

"Well, I bet that's nice for him. Are his parents okay with it?"

Harry shrugged.

"I dunno. Aunt Tuney is happy, I think, and Uncle Vernon is...well, he thinks Dudley is _perfect_, so I guess he thinks if Dudley's magic it can't be that bad after all."

Harry grinned.

"At least I got to keep my broom this time!"

Remus chuckled a little.

"So Sirius sent you another one, huh? I hope it was a _training_ broom this time, and not a Comet 220?"

"Yep!"

Remus smiled a little tiredly; it was good to see Harry, even if it was through a mirror. They had been corresponding through letters since Harry was old enough to write, but they had never met. It was almost impossible for Remus to get visitation, because of his _condition – _not even with Dumbledore backing him. Sirius had really come through with these things.

"So, with brooms and wands and discovering your cousin's magic I suppose my present was even less exciting than I thought, but -"

Harry interrupted him at once, shaking his head.

"No! Your present is great, Moony! Aunt Tuney has hardly any pictures of my mum, and I only had one of them together...they look so happy in the pictures, and they wave and smile at me! Padfoot's presents are fun, but I really like having stuff of my mum'n dad! Really – I think it's my favorite present this year – better than the swingset, better than my broom, better than my _wand_, even! Only...only don't tell Padfoot, 'kay?"

Remus smiled a different smile then, one that made him look younger, and not so sad and tired.

"Promise. I'm – I'm glad you like it so much, Harry, really glad. Look, I really want to have a good long conversation with you, but I'm expecting a guest any minute now. Do you think we can talk later?"

Harry bounced thoughtfully for a minute, and then leaned close to the mirror.

"If I'm _really quiet_, I can call you when I go to bed! Padfoot said I shouldn't tell anyone about my mirrors until Headmaster Albus comes to talk to Aunt Tuney and Uncle Vernon, and probably I'll have to keep this one secret anyway..."

"Then I'll talk to you tonight, Harry, but don't get in trouble on my account. You can always call me tomorrow morning."

Harry grinned.

"Okay! Bye, Moony!"

"Goodbye, Harry."

"Moony, off!"

* * *

><p>Two years passed in a blur for both Harry and his family; for Harry, there was Padfoot at winter and summer breaks, and on weekends – and sometimes Moony, too, although that was perhaps the biggest secret Harry had. He was good at keeping secrets; he had been surrounded by them his whole life, and it was second nature to him to understand that sometimes, there were things that it was better for certain people not to know.<p>

It was for that reason that Harry was on his way with Headmaster Albus to meet a man called Ollivander at Padfoot's house. Though the Headmaster had long planned to provide Harry (and his Cousin, when he showed the talent) with a wand as soon as he had enough control, Aunt Petunia had, finally, flatly refused to allow Harry _or_ Dudley to have a real wand in her house until they were eleven and would be in Hogwarts' hands. Dumbledore had argued bravely, but had finally been forced to twinkle and concede...openly, at least.

Sirius, on the other hand, had asked for a "home consultation" by Britain's premier wand maker on the day after Harry's ninth birthday, so that Harry could have a real wand he would be able to learn and practice with when he was visiting his Godfather. Nothing could be done about Dudley, who watched Harry leave with the Headmaster enviously; but Harry was too pleased about getting his wand to care.

Harry _apparated _with Dumbledore as far as the Leaky Cauldron, and then flooed from there to Padfoot's house – Grim's Playground. Harry tumbled out of the fireplace into Padfoot, who was waiting and caught him neatly, and then jumped up immediately, grinning.

"Hi, Padfoot!"

"Hiya, pup! Afternoon, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

"Good afternoon, Sirius. Has Ollivander arrived?"

Sirius nodded.

"About fifteen minutes ago. He's in the parlor unpacking – I think he brought every wand in his shop with him!"

"Shall we go in, then?"

Sirius shrugged and led the way through the house. At one time, "Grim's Playground" had been "Grimmauld Place", the ancestral home of the Black family and the home of more than a few bad memories for Sirius, who was now the last son of his House. He had been resistant to Dumbledore's suggestion that he come back here to live, even with the thought that the protections on the place would be good for Harry's safety. But he had finally decided to move back in when he had realized that the better revenge would be, not to stay away, but to completely redo the entire house – so much so that the numerous generations of the Black family were probably spinning in their graves.

To that end, he had knocked down walls, installed windows, and then frantically repainted, redecorated, and refurnished – and had come up with something that, rather than looking like a Dark Lord's hide-away, seemed more like a cross between a bachelor pad and a magical fun house. Half of the downstairs had been opened into a garage, where Sirius spent a good deal of his time tinkering happily beneath a Silenced portrait of his mother. The portrait, which 'lived' to spew vulgar invective, had survived the redecorating only because it was attached to a structurally important wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm. It amused Sirius more than anything that his muggle-hating mother's portrait was now Permanently Stuck over his muggle workshop.

The other half of the first floor was a combination kitchen/dining room/living room, a great open space in which Sirius' single house elf, Maddy, was most often found puttering about. There had originally been another house elf in charge – one named Kreacher – but Sirius had told Harry that he had gone quite mad, and had attempted to hang his own head on the wall. Apparently, it had not worked out too well, though Sirius had refused to give Harry any grisly details.

In the corner beyond the kitchen was a very short hallway with a narrow door that led into a wizardspace parlor. It was one of the only places in the house that Sirius had left largely untouched – he was afraid if he did too much to the expanded room it was liable to _un_expand and crush him. Still, he had managed to remove the Dark Artifacts that had been _decorating _the parlor, and the walls and furniture had been redone in a combination of burgundy and blue, obliterating the old green and black motif.

Mr. Ollivander, proprietor and owner of Ollivander's Wands (makers of find wands since 382 BC) was waiting on a sofa, and just as Sirius had said, it looked as if he was surrounded by an entire shop's worth of wands. Tall piles of thin boxes swayed all around the couch, defying gravity.

Harry paused in the doorway, and as Ollivander stood to greet them he loomed tall and spidery, his eyes like twin full moons in his smooth, pallid face.

"Mr. Black, Headmaster, and - ahh yes, Mr. Harry Potter; a bit earlier than I had thought, but it is good to meet you all the same. I can still remember meeting your parents for the first time -"

Suddenly the looming figure of the wand maker seemed much more friendly, and Harry looked up at him eagerly.

"You knew my parents, sir?"

Ollivander nodded, and gestured for Harry to take a step toward him.

"Yes, I did. Your mother was quickly chosen by a ten inch wand of willow with the hair of a Manticore as its core; very swishy, strong for Charms. Your father, on the other hand, spent more than an hour in my shop and was finally selected by a nine-and-one-quarter inch wand of mahogany containing a single tail feather from a most magnificent Phoenix; an interesting combination, excellent for Transfiguration and Enchanting."

Ollivander paused for a moment, and then continued more slowly.

"I...had the fortune of meeting your mother on one other occasion, shortly before your birth. Her wand was snapped in combat, and she came to me for a replacement. Nine-and-three-quarters inches, oak, containing five crystallized Phoenix Tears. Quite a rare and beautiful wand, if I remember correctly, and extraordinarily powerful for Defensive magics."

Harry deflated just the tiniest bit, listening to this; Mr. Ollivander seemed to know far more about his parents' _wands_ than he knew about his parents themselves. Still, it was always nice to know anything. Padfoot, Moony, and Headmaster Albus had been telling him stories for years now about his parents – his father growing up, both of them at Hogwarts, their wedding and the year of marriage before his birth...and after.

"Now then, Mr. Potter, shall we begin? Which is your wand arm?"

Harry held out his right hand.

"Right, sir. If it's the same as with a training wand."

Ollivander raised an eyebrow at that, but Harry didn't notice.

"Ahh...yes, just so. Now, hold still, and I'll get some measurements..."

A tape measure began to dart around Harry's body; it measured his wand hand and arm, but also his waist, his height, the circumference of his head, the width of his nostrils, and the length of his neck. Cross-eyed, Harry peered down it, and noticed that instead of centimeters or inches, the tape measure was labeled with strange symbols, curlicues and runes and squiggles, and not a single number at all.

"What is it measuring, Mr. Ollivander?"

The old wand maker gave him an appraising glance, and seemed to come to some sort of decision, because he nodded slowly and began to speak in a sing-song voice.

"_Vinewood, Rosewood, Holly, Alder, Lime; _

_Ironwood, Redwood, Cherry, Maple, Pine;_

_Spruce, Ash, and Juniper, Rowan and Teak;_

_Willow, Mangrove, Hawthorn, Birch and Mesquite._

_Trees of the forest, trees of the wood; _

_These bring power best, for those who are good._

_Yew, Poplar, Sycamore, White Aspen, Silver Birch_

_Of these five be careful, lest your name you besmirch_

_Laburnum, Hickory, Mahogany, Fir_

_Among these four search for a need more obscure_

_Oak is the strongest; take care in whose hand it is laid_

_Of Elder alone has but one wand been made."_

Harry looked astonished at the wand-maker. The measuring tape took that opportunity to measure the space between his eyes.

"What is that, Mr. Ollivander? Is it a rhyme?"

Ollivander nodded, and gestured at the measuring tape, which zoomed into his hand.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter. It is a rhyme which has been used for many, many years to teach the most basic lore of wand-woods to the wand makers of my family. The measurements I am taking help to cut down the potential wands you might try...certain portions of this tape react to different levels and types of magical potential, which are associated with different wand woods and cores. Many people think that my measurements are only to determine the appropriate _length _of a wizard's wand, but that is foolishness. The length of one's wand depends on the balance between the amount of raw power and the mental focus of the wizard in question."

Both the Headmaster and Sirius were listening with interest to the wand-maker's discourse; Dumbledore had had many conversations with Ollivander over the years, but he had never heard the quaint little rhyme, nor heard such an in-depth explanation to a customer's question – especially such a _young_ customer.

"What about the inside, Mr. Ollivander? The, um, core? Is there is a rhyme for those, too?"

Ollivander barely smiled, the smallest upward turning of the corners of his mouth.

"No, Mr. Potter, unfortunately there is not. Far too many magical creatures can be used as the core of a wand – the mane or tail hair of a Unicorn, the tail feathers or tears of a Phoenix, slivers of fang from a Basilisk, the heartstrings and scales of Dragons, the feather of a Gryffin or a Sphinx's blood...and those are only some of the more common. Rarely, a wizard will by chosen by a wand with a magical plant as its core – essence of Mandrake, for example, or the seed of a Devil's Snare."

"And my wand, Mr. Ollivander? What will my wand be?"

Harry stepped forward eagerly, and Ollivander perused the boxes behind him for a long moment before he selected one and handed the wand inside it to Harry.

"You must try them and find out. Ebony and Phoenix Feather, eleven and a half inches. Give it a _swish, _Mr. Potter."

Harry _swished_, but Ollivander snatched the wand away almost immediately and handed him another one.

"No, not that one. Here; Oak and Griffin Feather, ten and three-quarter inches, try -"

_Swish._

"No – perhaps this one – Ironwood and Unicorn Hair, eleven and one-quarter inches, try -"

And so it went. Harry tried. And tried. He _swished_ and _flicked_ and _waved_ and _twisted_ every wand Ollivander could think of to have him try, and several that he was sure Harry wasn't suited for at all. Ollivander seemed to grow more pleased the more wands Harry tried; after two hours, they all took a break for pumpkin juice and scones in the kitchen, and then returned to the parlor. At the end of another hour, Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling madly, Sirius was glaring at the discarded wands in consternation, and Ollivander was rubbing his hands together in glee.

"Well, well, well, I haven't had a customer so tricky in ages, Mr. Potter – your father took quite some time, but not this long. Even the Headmaster was not so difficult find a wand for; Ebony and Phoenix Feather, eight and three-quarter inches, yes?"

Dumbledore nodded, but Ollivander's gaze lingered on the wand in the Headmaster's hands, which was of a pale wood that certainly didn't _look_ like ebony. Dumbledore's twinkle dimmed the tiniest bit, but he said nothing.

"Well now Mr. Potter...let me see...I suppose you had best try these while I think."

The pile of wands had dwindled to three. Ollivander took them out of their boxes doubtfully, but lay them out before Harry all the same.

"Yew and Dragon Heartstring, six and one half inches."

Nothing.

"Apple and Unicorn Hair, thirteen inches-"

Nothing.

"Rosewood and Manticore Scale, twelve and one-quarter inches -"

There was, still and finally, nothing. Harry was looking at the stacks of discarded wands in horror now; had he lost his magic? Had it been a mistake, and he didn't have any at all? But he was reassured when Ollivander laughed out loud and clapped his hands.

"Excellent, excellent! Such a pity I don't have you in my shop, where you could try...but I've had a thought – yes, just the thing for now. Mr. Black, do you know what became of the wands belonging to Mr. Potter's parents?"

Sirius looked startled, and then nodded slowly.

"Yeah, they're...they're in the box upstairs that has the things saved from the house after -"

He went pale and fell silent; Harry's face turned solemn. Ollivander pressed his fingers together and looked at Sirius thoughtfully.

"If it is not too much trouble, Mr. Black, could I ask you to bring those wands to us, please? I believe Mr. Potter would find it...beneficial."

Sirius stood and stretched, shrugged.

"Sure. Matter of fact, I'll bring the whole box down. Harry can look through the rest of it later."

There was thumping as Sirius ran up the stairs and then louder thumping as he came down again with the box.

* * *

><p>AN: So Harry gets his gift of a Mirror a little sooner...and more usefully. And, with Sirius returning to take a more active presence in his Godson's life, things are sure to get interesting. Keep in mind that this time skip was only two years, so Harry is nine, not eleven. I honestly don't believe that every wizard child would go out to get a wand just before their first year of Hogwarts; it makes no sense, especially for wizardborn children. If that were the case, Ollivander's shop would only need to be open a couple weeks out of the year, right before school starts, so that in that time all of First Year could buy wands.

Please Review!


	8. Chapter 7: Curiouser and Curiouser

**- _Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams _-  
><strong>

**Chapter 7**

_**Curiouser and Curiouser, or The Wand That Chooses The Wizard**_

* * *

><p><em>Mr. Xylem Ollivander is well known for three things: his mysterious manner, his meticulous craftsmanship, and the fact that he has never forgotten a wand, or its owner. In many ways, his Art is the most dangerous and intimidating of all Wizarding duties, for he is the man who reaches to the boundaries of magic for the very instruments of our power; he holds our way of life, as it were, in the palm of his hand.<em>

_ - From A Modern Wizarding History, By Datru Thov Depast_

* * *

><p>There was silence for a minute or so as Sirius rummaged, and then, with an <em>Ah-ha<em> of triumph, he pulled out two long, dusty wooden boxes and presented them for Ollivander's inspection.

With a gleam in his eye, Ollivander opened each box and removed the two wands. One was pale and yellowish, almost the color of ivory; the other was a rich, dark, reddish-brown.

"Here, Mr. Potter. Your mother's wand; Oak and Phoenix Tears, nine and three-quarter inches."

Harry took the ivory-colored wand and _swished_ it gently. It tingled in his fingers and faint golden light shimmered at the tip of the wand. Harry was delighted that he had at last got a reaction from a wand, but Ollivander was frowning thoughtfully.

"And now try this one, Mr. Potter. Your father's wand; Mahogany and Phoenix Feather-"

Harry relinquished his mother's wand and took up his father's. Again, he felt a tingling sensation; this time the wand emitted a few red sparks, like a fading firecracker. Ollivander accepted the second wand back from Harry, and then turned to include the two adults in his serious stare.

"I must ask now that the three of you swear never to reveal the details of what I am about to do, or try to do anything like this yourselves. The wand-maker's Art is not meant for public knowledge; it is dangerous, and more complicated than it looks."

Dumbledore and Sirius exchanged a surprised look, but nodded. Harry also nodded and said solemnly,

"I swear."

Ollivander reached into a deep pocket of his robes then and pulled out a small leather bundle, which unrolled with a snap of the wrist. Inside was a row of what looked like short, metal wands and stubby knives. Ollivander retrieved a short knife with an oily sheen and one of the metal wand-stubs. Carefully, speaking as he worked, Ollivander took the metal and the knife and ran them carefully along the length of James Potter's wand. Under the metal stub, a seam became visible; under the knife, the seam parted, and the two halves of the wand's wood fell apart in Ollivander's hand, revealing the glittering core.

"The Art of making a wand is an Art of wholeness; only a wand's maker knows how a wand may be repaired or altered. It is rare that a wand-core which has been used will accept a transfer to another wood, but you, Mr. Potter, are a special case, and these wands share a special affinity for each other. Now, Mr. Potter, take these and hold them carefully -"

He passed Harry the halves of his father's wand, and lay the Phoenix Feather core aside gently. It glowed palely, white and red; then Ollivander went to work on Lily Potter's wand. The oak split more easily than the mahogany had – it was a younger wand, Ollivander explained. Within, glistening like diamonds with a heart of fire, lay five small crystals – Phoenix Tears. Again, Ollivander lay aside the core, each Tear gently, and then took the wand halves back from Harry. Carefully, he examined the two wands, and lay each half side by side. Surprisingly, he chose not the halves from James' wand, or Lily's, but rather one half from each wand. The pieces he chose lay smoothly together, their ripples and curves and rough spots perfectly fitted to each other. Ollivander trimmed the extra half inch from Lily's wand with a whispered word and a sharp movement of his knife, then set aside the wood.

"Very good. Now, Mr. Potter, hold out your hands."

Obediently, Harry held out both hands, and was surprised when Ollivander lay the Phoenix Feather core of his father's wand across his palms; the white-and-red glow grew intensely. Then, carefully, Ollivander aligned the five Tears from his mother's wand in a line beside the feather. Immediately, the white-and-red glow became gold and red, and grew more brilliant still. As the four wizards watched, the Phoenix Tears grew liquid and flowed onto the Feather – and then they vanished. Ollivander let out his breath slowly.

"Remarkable! I only meant to ascertain which core would respond better to Mr. Potter's magic. Instead, the Tears have been absorbed into the Feather...I have never attempted such a combination successfully before. I imagine that the residual magic of the parents...and of course this feather and those tears were from the same Phoenix."

Dumbledore's head gave a little jerk of surprise at that, which only Sirius noticed. Harry was focused on the wand-maker. Ollivander had taken up the two wand-halves, one oak and one mahogany, and was muttering over them, touching them here and there with the metal stub. After a few minutes he put it away, and the knife as well, and reached for a much longer bit of metal from his satchel. This one _definitely _looked like a wand; it even had a grip like one.

Ollivander took the Tear-soaked Phoenix Feather from Harry, and laid it carefully within the wand halves he had prepared. Gently, he coaxed the seam back together; with a sharp word of command and a twist of his metal wand, the two halves joined and looked as if they might have grown that way – a branch half Oak, half Mahogany.

With a smile, Ollivander handed Harry the wand.

"Try this one, Mr. Potter. Oak and Mahogany, nine and one-quarter inches, containing a tail Feather... _and_ five Tears from a Phoenix."

The wand was warm in Harry's hand; it felt alive in his fingers, and when he gave it a _flick_ the wand emitted a shower of red and golden sparks. Sirius whooped delightedly; Dumbledore clapped politely, but his eyes were sparkling almost as brightly as the wand. Ollivander began packing up his other wands, but his eyes remained fixed on Harry for a long moment.

"It is the wand that chooses the wizard, and that wand _insisted_ on being made. It was meant especially for you. Your parents made a great sacrifice, Mr. Potter – terrible, but great. I think we must also expect great things from you. If you ever have a spare moment, and you are in Diagon Alley, I would appreciate it if you would stop by my shop. There were...a few wands I could not bring with me. They are...unique, Mr. Potter. As unique as you yourself."

The atmosphere in the room changed slightly. Sirius cleared his throat and asked Ollivander for the price of Harry's wand, then turned over only three galleons – because, said Ollivander, they had provided the materials themselves.

Harry only nodded at the wand-maker's words, and clutched his new wand tightly in both hands.

They said goodbye to Mr. Ollivander at the fireplace, and then the Headmaster turned to look down at Harry.

"Harry, I think it's time for you to say goodbye to Sirius, and let him hold onto your wand. It's already past six o'clock; we're due back at your Aunt's soon."

Harry let out a long sigh and nodded; slowly, he ran the wood through his fingers, savoring the sensation of magic rippling in response. Sadly, he retrieved the box that Ollivander had given him for his wand; the boxes that had been for his parent's wands now held the remaining halves of their wand-wood, one split piece in each box. Seeing the forlorn expression on Harry's face, Sirius turned to Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, are you sure we can't insist that Harry gets to keep his wand? I mean – it was his _parent's_ - "

Dumbledore shook his head.

"I wish he could, Sirius, but I gave my word to Petunia that there would be no wands in her home until it was time for Harry and Dudley to attend Hogwarts. I had hoped that by this time she would be comfortable enough with magic, but..."

He shrugged, resigned. Harry held onto his wand box with both hands, reluctant to put it down, and then looked up at the two adults with an ingenuous expression.

"Headmaster Albus? Padfoot? Can I – can I bring it just long enough to show Aunt Petunia? Please? Padfoot can come to bring me home too, and then he can bring it back here with him. Please, please please please?"

Sirius chuckled and shrugged, assuming that Harry wanted to show off for his cousin. Dumbledore looked down at Harry for a long moment and then nodded slowly.

"Very well. I think perhaps you are right; Petunia _might_ like to see your new wand. But you must promise not to try and use it, and you will _have_ to give it back to Sirius. Agreed?"

"Agreed!"

Harry followed Dumbledore and Sirius through the floo to the Leaky Cauldron, and then held on tightly to the Headmaster's arm as he was _apparated_ to Privet Drive.

* * *

><p>The Dursleys were gathered in the living room watching television when Harry returned home. Petunia went to open the door, and was surprised to see Sirius standing with Harry and Dumbledore, but motioned them all inside.<p>

"Headmaster, Mr. Black. Harry, I...hope you had a good time?"

Harry nodded vigorously.

"And you found your – your wand, did you?"

Dudley looked up at that with jealousy scrawled across his face, but Harry only continued nodding – and then opened the box in his hands and retrieved his wand. Petunia looked startled at first, and then shot Dumbledore an angry glance, but Dumbledore held up a hand and directed her attention back to Harry, who was holding out his wand to her.

She had to fight a near-instinctive reaction to duck and hide, reminding herself that the boy didn't know any magic yet – and then realized that he was _handing_ it to her, not pointing it at her.

"It's – my wand is _special_. I tried _tons _of wands, and then Mr. Ollivander made this one from my mum'n dad's wands. It _chose_ me. I know you said I couldn't keep it here, but I thought you might want to see, cause...cause it was my _mum's_. Here, Aunt Tuney."

Harry very rarely used the childish name for his Aunt anymore, but he had seen that strange expression in her face again when he mentioned his mother. It was because there was a part of her unable to resist the pleading eyes of the sister she had lost; it was because she knew as much as the boy did the lure of magic.

Suddenly, still hesitantly, Petunia reached out and took hold of the wand. The pale oak was warm in her hands, the red mahogany oddly cool. She ran her fingers along the length of it, feeling the grain of the wood, the smooth, hidden _power_ of it.

And then she handed it back. Her hands were trembling and her vision blurry, her voice slightly thick - she didn't know why, but somehow holding that wand had brought her up short. She spoke as if Harry had asked a question; her fingertips still tingled with warmth.

"All right. All right; you...you can keep it. Just – just keep it out of sight, Harry, and make sure that you're _very careful _about what you use it for."

Harry's eyes opened wide with delight and surprise; Sirius looked faintly impressed at what he interpreted as his Godson's craftiness. Dumbledore beamed his approval at Petunia, but she turned away huffily to conceal her emotions and went to console her son, who was suddenly sniffling on the couch. Dudley had resigned himself to waiting two more years for a wand, but living with Harry had taught him that his parents were generally willing to give him anything he wanted – _especially_ if Harry had it first.

"Mum, does this mean I can have a wand now too? I promise I'll be careful, and put it away when you ask, and only use it for good stuff! Please mum? Please?"

Dudley looked up at his mother hopefully; his answer came, surprisingly, from his father, who had observed the scene in silence with a disgruntled expression.

"'Course you can, Dudders. Didn't see what the fuss was about, anyway; the two of you have been changing colors and moving stuff and making funny lights for years now. What do you think, Headmaster – can we arrange something for our Dudley to pick up his wand, too?"

The arguments and tears of the last few weeks, during which Harry and Dudley had tried to gain just this concession from Petunia, were forgotten. Harry put his wand back in its box – there was no point carrying it around yet, he didn't know any real spells – and waited breathlessly for an answer. Headmaster Albus was smiling, though, so -

"Yes, I think that can be arranged. In fact, it might be good for both boys to go on a little adventure; a trip to Diagon Alley seems in order, wouldn't you say, Sirius?"

Sirius grinned, an open, boyish expression, and nodded.

"Definitely! I never get tired of that place."

Dumbledore clapped his hands together.

"Excellent! Then I think I'll leave you all to make plans; I'm not as young as I used to be and it is getting quite late for an old man. "

But he twinkled as he said it. Petunia saw Dumbledore to the door, and then returned to find her living room in an uproar. Harry and Dudley were bouncing on their seats as Sirius gesticulated excitedly and Vernon looked on in irritated confusion.

"We'll get you a wand, first, Dudley – Ollivander's you know, only place for wands – and then we'll stop in Quality Quidditch Supplies and see if we can't find you two some proper brooms! Getting a bit big for the kid's model I think, eh boys?"

Both boys nodded furiously. Petunia returned to her seat by her husband, her mouth opening as if she intended to protest, but Vernon's hand on her arm silenced her. After a moment of pursed lips, she shrugged; nothing untoward had happened in the last few years with the training brooms, though her heart _was_ in her mouth every time she watched the two of them take off. Besides, if Sirius was in a giving mood then they wouldn't have to shell out several hundred pounds for Dudley's broom.

Vernon cleared his throat, and the boys quieted slightly – only slightly. Harry had been hearing stories about Diagon Alley from Padfoot and Moony both since he was five years old, and had shared some of them with Dudley. Dudley was approaching deliriously overexcited at the thought of visiting his first magical place; he bounced in place and the sofa creaked alarmingly.

"Where else is there to go, Mr. Black?"

Sirius fixed Dudley with an amused grimace.

"Merlin! Call me Sirius, Dudley – or Padfoot, if you want. You're family, after all."

Dudley looked pleased, his mother faintly horrified. None of the Dursleys were aware of the fact that Sirius was a Grim _animagus_; even Harry had only been let in on the secret accidentally, during a mirror-conversation with Moony, and he had yet to see Sirius transform. It was one of only two things that Harry continued to keep to himself, the other being that Moony was a werewolf. It was funny to watch his Aunt's nose wrinkle while Dudley addressed a grown man in a manner which she deemed completely inappropriate.

"Then...then where else is there to go, P-Padfoot?"

"Hmm...how about everywhere? Flourish and Blott's – that's the bookstore...and don't make that face, Dudley, they're _magic_ books! But there's also Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, the Magical Menagerie, the London Wizarding Zoo – though it's not _technically_ in the Alley, the entrance is. And there's tons of places full of odd bits and pieces, an Apothecary, a few restaurants, Gringotts..."

"Gringotts?"

Harry and Dudley's query came in unison.

"The wizard bank – run by Goblins. Nasty little bug - uh, I mean _creatures_. Don't want to mess with Goblins, or with their bank either. Wizards have a saying – _where there's gold there's goblins. _Terribly clever with money, but none too fond of wizards in general. There're dragons guarding the oldest vaults on the lowest level...and worse things than dragons in the Goblins' own caves, they say."

The boys gulped, but exchanged excited glances.

"Dragons?"

"Dragons!"

Sirius grinned.

"Yeah; one guards _my_ vault, actually – your dad was _wicked_ jealous when he found that out, Harry."

Harry grinned, pleased with this tidbit, but Dudley was bouncing impatiently again.

"What else is there? In the Alley, I mean."

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows and ticked some things off on his fingers.

"Let's see...Madame Malkin's, for robes and such – you'll need a few, Dudley, if you plan on joining the wizarding world. T.J. Abbott's Wizardmart – sort of like a muggle grocery, but _much_ bigger – and the Leaky Cauldron, of course, though that's not really _in_ the Alley; it's the entrance."

He shrugged.

"Can't think of much else off the top of my head, but I know it's in there! Diagon Alley is the world's largest Wizardspace Alley, even larger than the _Rue D'occulte _in Paris. Wizardspace is usually made with a limit inherent in the spells, but Diagon Alley is different. The more magic there is, the larger it gets, so there are always new stores coming and going. For a while there was even one odd little place that sold only bangers and coconuts."

Dudley was practically vibrating with excitement.

"When can we go, when can we go? It's summer, so we don't have school -"

Sirius shrugged.

"Who has plans? Do you?"

The boys shook their heads.

"Neither do I. Want to go in the morning?"

The boys whooped their agreement; Petunia appeared to think for a moment, then nodded stiffly, and Vernon chuckled.

"Don't suppose you can magic these two quiet for the night, can you? Only they seem a bit...uh...bouncy."

Sirius looked back and forth between Harry and Dudley, then had an idea.

"Sorry, I can't do that – but I _could_ take them with me, if you like. Harry's probably itching to try his new wand, and Dudley's never seen a wizarding house – and that way we could leave early in the morning without these two chattering your ears off all night."

Dudley held his breath. On two previous occasions, once for a broom race and once for a quidditch game, Dudley had been invited along with Harry, but his parents had refused to let him go. There was something grim in the way they had kept him away from magical places and experiences, as if that way they could continue denying that their son was a wizard – even while everything he owned changed color more often than a chameleon. They had done their best to deal with his _talent_, as Dumbledore called it, but it was hard for them to be complete comfortable with it when they would never know it themselves.

Petunia and Vernon excused themselves to the kitchen to discuss the possibility of Dudley finally – _finally_ – being able to go somewhere wizardly. The necessity of the trip to Diagon Alley was a point in his favor. With a finger to his lips and a wave of his wand, Sirius enlarged his and the boys' side of the kitchen door's key-hole. Suddenly all three of them could hear the conversation going on:

"I don't know, Vernon, I don't know if I like the idea of our Duddykins alone in a magical place; he won't even be ten until April!"

"True, but he's going to have to go to that Dragon Alley to get his stick -"

"_Wand_, Vernon."

"To get his wand, then. I'm not sure what made you change your mind about Harry having one, Petunia, but if they're going to have those things around here than perhaps it's _best_ that they go with Black first – so they can blow up his house while they're learning, and not ours."

Petunia _hmm_ed under her breath for a moment.

"Oh, I suppose. Dudley _is_ old enough to take care of himself for one night, but we _must_ pick a definite time to have them back. What do you think, Vernon?"

Vernon paused for thought; Harry looked at Dudley and mimed pulling on a mustache thoughtfully; both boys broke out in giggles and Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Well, I don't know, Petunia. It sounds like there are an awful lot of places they want to go, and I'm not sure we want the boys back with those _wands_ until they've had a chance to wear themselves out a bit."

Then he had a _eureka!_ moment.

"Here's a thought, Pet – why not see if we can get Black to take them for two or three days, not just tomorrow? You know we've been meaning to visit Marge – I get an invitation every time I call, but she hasn't been able to _stand_ Harry, not since -"

Vernon's sister Marge had refused to host Harry in her home since the day her favorite dog had tried to bite Harry's leg and chase him up a tree, and had instead ended up in an impossible perch himself.

"Quietly, Vernon, they'll hear you! Now, what about Dudley? Don't you think he'd like to see his Aunt, dear?"

Vernon shrugged.

"When I was his age I'd rather have visited friends than family any day; we can ask him, but what do_ you _think, Pet?"

The argument appeared to have wound itself up; Padfoot made another pass with his wand, and the keyhole shrank back to its normal size. Harry and Dudley exchanged wide-eyed glances, and Harry gripped his wand box tightly in both hands. He couldn't wait to be able to do stuff like that!

Vernon and Petunia reappeared, and Vernon rubbed his hands together briskly.

"Well, I think we've decided; Mr. Black, if you don't mind taking both boys with you I suppose that's fine. In fact...we've been thinking for quite a while that it might be nice to get away for a few days this summer, and with the weekend coming up, and all, well...we thought...we thought this might be a good time for Petunia and I to visit my sister. If you wouldn't mind, that is – don't mean to impose - "

Vernon smiled uncertainly, and Sirius schooled his face into the appropriate expression of pleasant surprise.

"What a great idea! I'd be happy to take the boys for a weekend; that'll give us plenty of time for shopping, and I'll be able to teach them a few spells, too."

Petunia looked faintly sick, and Sirius hurried to reassure her.

"Nothing fancy or dangerous, I promise. Perhaps you wouldn't mind if they learned a cleaning spell or two, and maybe something fun like the Sparkler Charm?"

Cautiously, Petunia nodded, and then she stood suddenly and let out a sharp breath.

"Very well. Dudley, Harry, if you plan on going with Mr. Black, you should both go pack. Three sets of clothes, your pajamas, and _toothbrushes_ please, boys!"

She called the last after them as they ran across the room and clattered up the stairs.

* * *

><p>AN: Ah, wands. Now, there are two main reasons why I have altered Harry's wand from canon. First, I wanted to eliminate, from the very beginning, any silliness that might result from "brother wands". The fact that Harry's wand I say silliness, because phoenixes are such rare animals one would assume that if a core from the same bird is all that's required, _numerous_ "sibling" wands would exist, and the phenomenon wouldn't be so rare that Voldemort didn't know about it. Either that or Phoenix feather cores would be incredibly rare, which makes sense – except that in canon, they are one of three ingredients that go into the making of _all_ Ollivander's wands. Odd, that. Suffice it to say that the addition of Phoenix tears from his mother's wand will take care of any such nonsense.

Second, I intend to make a go at a (once again) realistic explanation for Harry's protection, _and_ for his "power he knows not" - or whatever it is that makes him so heroic. The fact that he has been imbued with wards is part of it; the wand that has been made for him, touched by his parents magic, is also part of it...and there will be further parts, never fear! So – we have an excursion to Diagon Alley, but enjoy the fun while it lasts, for: "The light alone does not gain power...but also the shadows which it casts. And there, the darkness sleeps...and grows..." Or so Dumbledore will say. More tomorrow!

Please Review!


	9. Chapter 8: Of Wands and Wizard Houses

**- _Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams_ -  
><strong>

**Chapter 8**

_**Of Wands And Wizard Houses**_

* * *

><p><em>Alley, Diagon: Central shopping area in Magical London; connects by Floo to the British Ministry of Magic, St. Mungo's Hospital, and Hogsmeade, as well as various International Hearths. Diagon Alley is famous as the largest wizardspace Alley in the world, as well as for the marvelous variety and quality of its goods. <em>

_From An Encyclopedia For The Muggleborn, by Regan Gherreimon_

* * *

><p>Rather than mess about with the electric fireplace that Vernon had installed in the Dursley's hearth, and because he couldn't side-along <em>apparate<em> both boys, Sirius decided that Dudley's initiation to the wizarding world should start with a bang; literally.

To that end, he brought them to Grim's Playground by summoning the Knight Bus to the street outside of number four. Petunia watched in amazement as an older couple walking down the street nodded politely to Sirius, Dudley, and Harry, while simultaneously ignoring the bright purple double-decker bus that had just appeared out of thin air. She continued to watch as Sirius handed over a gleaming handful of wizard money, and the boys mounted the stairs; they waved at her eagerly from inside the bus, and Petunia waved back hesitantly – and then there was a _bang_! and a _whoosh!_ and the bus disappeared.

Inside, the boys bounced on overstuffed armchairs and peered out the windows at the rush of the leaping landscape; telephone poles, mailboxes, and whole houses dived out of the way of the bus, and their chairs slid around every time it turned. Their driver was a tiny old man who huddled over the wheel and peered forward with a squint, occasionally rubbing his arm across his eyes as if they were clouded glass. The conductor, a teenage girl who had taken their money and directed them to seats, sat with a scowl on her face in one of the sliding chairs reading a book called _Enchantments for the Beguiled. _Harry, Dudley, and Sirius were the third stop, after a middle-aged witch with a groaning parakeet and a young couple who had been whispering and giggling the whole way.

Sirius' house amazed Dudley into a minute-long silence, which for a nine year old is like forever. After that, however, he was running up and down the stairs with Harry, poking into all the bedrooms, examining strange objects,laughing at the moving paintings, examining the family tree tapestry on the upstairs wall (only there because that wall led to outside, and would have been a pain to demolish), and finding great delight in all of it.

After fifteen minutes of this, Sirius went upstairs and called both boys into a room across the hall from Harry's. It was basically empty, but the giant four-poster bed looked comfy and there was a picture of a dragon burning down a village on the wall.

"Dudley, this can be your room. Tomorrow while we're out we can pick up some furniture and such...in fact, we've been meaning to re-do Harry's room too. It'll give us something to do tomorrow, since I bet I'll be seeing you over here quite a bit with Harry now."

Dudley and Harry exchanged grins.

"If my parents will let me! But this room is already great - look, Harry, my bed's got _curtains_! Oh – and look, the dragon in the picture is eating somebody!"

Sirius grinned.

"Great, isn't it? Resets every twelve hours, so you can watch the village burn down again. That's one of the only pictures I kept in this place...well, besides my mum."

Dudley looked at Sirius oddly.

"Your...mum?"

An expression of wicked glee danced across Sirius' face at that.

"Harry, you were so busy running around up here you forgot to introduce your cousin to my mum! Come on, boys – let's head downstairs."

* * *

><p>The portrait in the work area of the downstairs was not a very nice one, but then Walburga Black hadn't been a very nice woman. Her face was continuously contorted by either a grimace or her shouting – which was thankfully inaudible – and she was dressed in black-and-grey robes with her hair in a severe bun which did not help her pinched and pale features. Sirius smiled widely as he pulled Dudley forward to "introduce" him to the portrait.<p>

"Hello, mother dear. Look who I've brought – Dudley Dursley, my Godson Harry's muggleborn cousin! Say hello, Dudley!"

"Um...Hello?"

The woman in the portrait took on an expression reminiscent of "The Scream", and Dudley looked back over his shoulder at Sirius uncertainly.

"Is...is she okay, Padfoot? She doesn't look very happy – she's really your mum?"

Distastefully, Sirius nodded.

"Yep. Don't worry about it, though – she's just a portrait. I get a kick out of letting her watch me take her house and her pureblood preferences and tear them to pieces. But really, don't let her bother you – she's only a picture, and I got Dumbledore to put a Permanent Silencing Charm on her."

He snickered.

"I thought it was only fair, since _she_ used a Permanent _Sticking_ Charm to keep the thing up."

Sirius turned then and flashed Harry a grin.

"So, Harry, got that wand of yours?"

Harry nodded furiously.

"Want to learn a spell before bed?"

Again, a furious nod.

"But, Padfoot, does it have to be a _cleaning_ spell?"

Sirius grinned and pulled his wand from his sleeve.

"Nah. I only said that to keep your Aunt from having a fit. Keep it quiet though, 'kay guys? Dudley, you better watch too – we're getting your wand in the morning, remember."

Dudley's drooping features perked considerably at this reminder, and he answered in unison with Harry.

"We won't tell _anyone_."

"Alright, then. This is called the Drawing Charm; watch that wrench over there."

Sirius pointed at a wrench on the table a few feet in front of them, then gave his wand a _wave_ in the same general direction.

"_Prope_!"

As both boys watched in amazement, the wrench jerked a little, then scooted along the table and out into Sirius' hand.

"See? The Drawing Charm brings stuff to you, but only if its pretty small, and pretty close. I couldn't get something from upstairs with this, but I _might_ be able to get something from the kitchen, and I could definitely get something from either end of this table. About fifteen feet is usually the limit, but you have to _really_ think about what you want to come to you."

Harry blinked thoughtfully.

"So, I have to _visualize_ – like with the color-change wand, and the bubble-wand?"

Sirius nodded.

"Exactly! Now, doing this Charm is easy – you just _wave_ your wand at what you want, and say the incantation – _prope!"_

"Um..._wave_..."

Harry took his wand from its box, and held the box out toward his cousin.

"Hold the box while I try it, okay, Dudley?"

"Okay..."

Sirius chuckled at the evident longing on Dudley's face.

"Morning, Dudley, morning – just wait!"

Harry turned toward his Godfather expectantly.

"Padfoot, what should I try to get?"

"Uh...here, I'll put the wrench back. Now stand...there, that's about three feet, good. And now, remember – _wave_, and _prope_! Concentrate on _wanting_ the wrench in your hand while you do it."

_Wave_.

"_Prope_!"

The wrench wriggled, jerked, and flopped over onto its other side, but didn't come anywhere near Harry.

"Hmm...try a wider, slower_ wave_, pup, and make sure you're concentrating!"

Harry did as Sirius told him, and was completely surprised when the wrench zoomed swiftly along the table and into his hand on his second attempt.

"Excellent, Harry!"

"Cool, Harry!"

Dudley was grinning with almost as much delight as Harry. Sirius cast his eye about for something else Harry could use the Charm on.

"Try it on that book on the end table there, Harry; it's a little farther away, but you should still be able to get it."

Concentrating, Harry did indeed succeed in calling the book into his hand, and then a whole host of numerous other small objects that were laying nearby – quills, more wrenches, six rolls of parchment, two more books and an orange button.

Panting a little, Harry grinned at the small pile of objects and brushed his hair back away from his eyes with his off hand. Dudley yawned behind his hand, and Sirius took that as his cue to start putting things away; the boys watched with interest as the various objects floated across the room, following Sirius' wand _flicks_, and Harry pouted a little.

"Won't you teach me one more spell, Padfoot?"

"You don't want to do too much at once, pup, or you'll tired yourself out – and remember, we've got a big day tomorrow. Sooner you get to bed, sooner we can get up and go. I'll show you some other things tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Now, who wants to be levitated into their bath?"

"Me, me!"

"Me!"

Dudley was only a moment behind his cousin, and for half an hour or so there was splashing of the highest order before Sirius finally got both boys in bed.

* * *

><p>Dawn flickered over the horizon like a faulty light bulb the next morning, but Harry was up with it all the same. This morning, for the first time in his life, he didn't have to wait for his cousin or go wake him up. Within two minutes of his own waking yawn, there was a faint knock at his door and then Dudley scrambled into his room, also yawning but excitedly bouncing.<p>

"Harry, are you up Harry? Come on, we're going to get my wand today, get up, get up!"

Harry yawned again, and then was suddenly wide awake, remembering all their plans for today.

"Yeah! Diagon Alley!"

Dudley had already dressed in shirt and trousers, so Harry jumped out of bed and flung clothes around for a moment until he found one of his favorite robes, a birthday present from Headmaster Albus that streamed the names and positions of his favorite Quidditch players across the shoulders, just like real Team Robes.

Dudley stared enviously at the blue fabric and the bright yellow letters, and then was completely astonished when Harry continued digging through robes and finally pulled out another one in green and blue.

"Here, Dudley! We're wizards today – I always wear robes when I go out with Padfoot, it's not polite to wear muggle clothes around. Padfoot said wearing only pants is like wearing only _underwear _in the muggle world!"

They giggled like conspirators, and Harry helped Dudley get the robes on properly, arms in the sleeves and not the wand-holder, folds properly draped and collar properly tied.

"There! Even fits, 'cause these are _autosizing_. Magic is great!"

Dudley smoothed the robes over his stomach.

"Yeah! Should we wake up Mr. - I mean, should we wake up Padfoot?"

Harry blinked thoughtfully for a moment, then finally shook his head.

"Nah, let's have breakfast first. Padfoot's cranky in the morning, its better if Maddy gets him up with coffee."

Dudley grinned.

"Like Dad, then! Mum has to bring him coffee or its the end of the world!"

But he let out a little gasp of surprise as he finished his sentence; there was a faint _pop_, and Maddy appeared behind Harry. Dudley had only caught a glimpse of her the previous night, and her sudden appearance was more than a little startling.

"Does the young masters be wanting breakfasts?"

Dudley looked uncertainly at the gray-skinned, bug-eyed, bat-eared, two-foot-tall _creature_ which was Maddy the House Elf, but Harry just nodded.

"Yeah! Thanks Maddy! Can we have waffles with ice cream on them, can we?"

"Maddy will be making it, young master. Does the new young master be wanting anythings else?"

Hesitantly, as Harry grinned at him encouragingly, Dudley made his request.

"Uh...waffles...waffles sound good. Maybe...some bacon?"

Maddy nodded, ears flopping.

"Yes, yes, bacons, of course. Maddy will be calling for young masters when breakfasts are ready!"

As suddenly as she had appeared, she disappeared, and Dudley sank back onto Harry's bed heavily.

"Is _all_ magical stuff that...uh..."

"Surprising? Yep!"

Dudley appeared to weigh this for a moment, then beamed.

"Wicked! What do we do now, Harry? It's too bad I can't practice spells with your wand..."

Harry considered for a moment, and then stood up abruptly as an idea occurred to him.

"No...that won't work...but I've been keeping some training wands here that you don't have, 'cause Uncle Vernon didn't like them! Want to see?"

Dudley's eyes widened.

"Yeah! Will you show me the other wand movements, Harry? I'll need to know -"

Harry nodded.

"'Yeah! But we better find something that's safe to levitate. I bet Maddy can help!"

They raced off down the stairs.

By the time Sirius was awake and had come downstairs, coffee in hand, Dudley had succeeded in learning to use the levitation wand well enough that he was _mostly_ getting forkfuls of waffle and ice cream in Harry's mouth – between bouts of laughter and his own bites. Apparently it had been decided _very _early on in Dudley's training that this would be the best practice method, because Harry had syrup on his left cheek, waffle stuck in his hair, and what was probably ice cream melting on his right ear and shoulder.

"Slightly to the left, Dudley – ohhh..."

Sirius' voice startled Dudley, who jumped and sent the forkful of waffle up Harry's nose instead of into his mouth. Harry winced, snorted, sneezed, then laughed. Dudley cringe a little, obviously expecting a scolding, but Sirius saw no reason to be angry over Harry's experiment in edible hats. Harry, on the other hand, was half-scowling as he blew his nose

"Hey! Careful! Morning, Padfoot!"

"Morning Harry – Dudley. Heh. I think you need a shower before we go out, pup.."

Harry tugged at a bit of waffle stuck in his hair and nodded. Sirius blinked sleepily, paused to yawn hugely, drained his coffee and then held out his empty cup. Maddy appeared beside him with a coffeepot, startling Dudley again, though this time he merely bit his fork.

Slowly, Sirius sat across from Harry and drank his second cup of coffee, at which point he began to grow more alive – enough so that he Vanished some of the mess from Harry's hair and robes and felt capable of eating his own breakfast.

Harry tromped off obediently to the shower, Dudley stared across the table at Sirius and gulped, wondering if he dared ask any of the eighty-five thousand questions that had been swimming in his head all morning.

"Uh...Padfoot? Can I ask you some questions about – about wizard stuff?"

Sirius looked up, briefly surprised and then amused.

"Sure, kid. What d'ya wanna know?"

"Well -"

Having been given permission, Dudley was at a loss what to ask first. This was his first chance to talk to any wizard alone, without his parents or _anyone_ listening in; this was his first wizard house and his first day going out among wizards. He experienced a peculiar feeling at that thought which he was unable to verbalize; it was the feeling that went along with recognizing that these people were _his kind_, that they were like _him – _or rather, that _he_ was like _them_.

"Do...do wizards mostly do stuff by themselves, or do House Elves do everything? What _is_ a House Elf, anyway? How do they do know where you are and then show up? Is your -"

"Hang on, hang on! Let's see...most wizards have to do things by themselves, but let me tell you, kid, I'd get rid of this _house_ before I got rid of Maddy. House Elves are...well, they're House Elves. You've seen Maddy...they bond to a wizard and his house, and they can do remarkable things in their own limited sphere of magic. Although..."

Sirius looked off into space thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin.

"I often wondered how _limited_ that magic really is. If you can help it, don't _ever_ anger a House Elf. One of your own will protect you to the limits of its power – one belonging to someone else will be just as quick to turn that power against you if they think they are defending their master."

Dudley nodded slowly, not really understanding all this but pleased to be answered seriously. He had been afraid Sirius would laugh at his questions – that perhaps he wasn't _wizardly_ enough. Sirius chewed a mouthful of waffle thoughtfully, then gestured with his fork.

"As far as how they know where we are – never really thought about it. Maddy!"

There was a _pop_, and Maddy appeared beside Sirius, blinking hopefully.

"Master is needing Maddy?"

Sirius nodded, swallowed, and wiped his mouth.

"Dudley here was just asking some questions, and I wanted to know the answer too; how do you find me when I need you, Maddy?"

Maddy cocked her head slowly and peered over at Dudley with a very strange expression.

"Young master is wanting to know about Maddy? And Master too?"

Bemused, Sirius nodded.

"Maddy is knowing where Master is always; Maddy bonds to Master, and bond keeps Maddy knowing Masters needs. Maddy is also being bonds with Master's house. Maddy can be findings anyone or anythings in Master's house!"

The little Elf looked pleased with herself, and looked up at Sirius again.

"Does Master be needing anything else from Maddy?"

Sirius shook his head and forked his last bite.

"No, Maddy, that's all. The boys and I will be out today in London, so we won't be needing lunch today, just a late dinner. And we'll probably come back with loads of stuff – maybe you could give Harry'n Dudley's rooms a dusting."

"Maddy will see to it, Master!"

Then she was gone; Dudley grinned.

"Kind of weird, isn't she Padfoot? Are...are all House Elves like Maddy?"

Sirius shrugged and stood, stretching.

"Far as I know – some are weirder. You ready, Dudley? We should get going as soon as Harry's out of the shower -"

"I'm here! I'm ready!"

Harry's footsteps thudded down the stairs, and he reappeared tugging a clean set of green and gold robes over his head. Sirius grinned.

"Alright then – I suppose we'll just floo straight to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry, you know what to do!"

With a _jab _and a muttered phrase, Sirius lit the fire in the hearth, and Harry stepped forward, took a pinch of sparkling floo powder from a jar on the mantelpiece, and then tossed it onto the fire. Green flames leapt up immediately, and Dudley gasped as Harry stepped directly into the fire, shouted _Diagon Alley_, and vanished with a rush that extinguished the green flames.

"Harry! He's – is he alright?"

Sirius chuckled at Dudley's discomfiture, and nodded.

"'Course he is! He'll be in London by now; floo is fast, and easy. Looks a little odd the first time, I know – here, you go next so I can make sure you're through okay. Take a pinch of this – floo powder, made it myself – and now you just toss it on the fire..."

Dudley did as he was told, and the green flames burst up again.

"Now step in, and call out where you want to go, which in this case is -"

But Dudley was already ahead of him; with a last gulp, he stepped into the fireplace and squeezed his eyes shut. Flames wrapped around his body like a warm exhalation.

"Diagon Alley!"

Sirius watched as Dudley disappeared, and then tossed his own pinch of floo on the fire and followed the boys through.

He could have _apparated_, but he'd always thought the floo was more fun.

* * *

><p>AN: The Knight Bus gets an early appearance, and Harry learns his first spell. Maddy is important - not so much as a character, I expect, but for the knowledge she is capable of imparting to those curious about...everything. Grimmauld Place has been revamped...hmm...and note that we will be learning some things about Underage Magic in the next chapter...and that it will be nothing at all like what it was in canon. Also... onward to more wands - plural - and a first trip to Diagon Alley! In the process of Harry and Dudley being truly immersed in the wizarding world for the first time, we will learn much about it. One more chapter of lightness, and then dark intrudes...more tomorrow!

Please Review!


	10. Chapter 9: Binding Friendships

**- **_**Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams -**_

**Chapter 9**

_**Binding Friendships, or The Brothers Three**_

* * *

><p><em>By chance, if chance you call it, they came together – muggleborn, pureblood, and one in-between; by chance, they took the first step down the road that led away from destruction. Who knows what would have happened, if one had arrived a moment later? All we can say now is "It happened." And of that, we should all be glad...<em>

_ - From A Modern Wizarding History, By Datru Thov Depast_

* * *

><p>The voice of a young boy was suddenly raised over the calm, verdant forest of Green Grove; a spatter of birds rose in flight from the trees, protesting.<p>

"I can't use Dad's wand! I won't, I won't!"

August Longbottom stared at her grandson in shock. Neville, her mild-mannered, sweet and soft spoken Neville, appeared to be on the verge of a temper tantrum – or a nervous breakdown. Nine years old was a good age to begin training House Magic, and Neville's first accidental magic a few days before had come as a relief.

She had thought it only fitting that Frank's son use Frank's wand, now that her son was no longer able to make use of it himself. She had thought to save herself a trip to Diagon Alley, with all its attendant dangers – she had thought to keep Neville safe in Green Grove for just a little longer. Two years – just two more years until Hogwarts...

She had _not_ thought that Neville would react so _badly_ to the idea.

"Neville – dear – it sparks for you -"

"I won't use Dad's wand, Gran! I can't – he's not -"

He turned large, grey eyes up to her, and sobbed:

"Dad's not dead, Gran! I won't take his wand! Dad's not dead!"

She stood still frozen, mesmerized by those eyes, her son's eyes, her poor not-quite-dead son's eyes – no, _his_ son's eyes. Neville's eyes, pleading with her not to abandon hope. Not to consign his parents to the dead; not to forget. She had thought he was merely acting spoiled, acting like the pampered child he was for once, instead of like his mother with his father's eyes – but _this_! In her wildest dreams she had not suspected -

But she should have. She saw that clearly now – she should have.

_This wise boy, this wise...this too wise boy. He, too, is a boy-who-lived; and I am so grateful -_

Augusta cleared her throat. Crisply, she spoke, and nodded sharply to hide the glistening in her eyes.

"I...I see. You're right, of course. I...had not thought of it quite like that. Will you put it back beside your father's picture, Neville? And then go tell Algie we're taking a trip to Diagon Alley today."

Neville sniffled, and wiped his eyes, and nodded; Augusta watched him shuffle over to his father's portrait, and then out of the room, and let out a long sigh.

Her eyes turned to the picture on the mantle; ah Frank – such a brave boy...such a good, brave, boy...just like Neville.

_I should tell him more often. And I should tell him more about Frank...and Alice._

"Gran? Gran?"

Her eyes had drifted shut as she drifted into her thoughts; she opened them and found Neville standing in front of her, holding a piece of a parchment.

"Great Uncle Algie gave me a list of ingredients he wants from the 'pothecary while we're gone. He said we should stop at Gringott's, too, if we're getting me a wand."

Augusta raised her eyebrows, and then lifted herself out of her chair.

"Well, sounds like quite a day, then. Get your cloak, Neville, and wash your face and hands. I'll be waiting by the Gate, and mind -"

"Gran, may we floo instead? I don't like _apparating_ -"

She let out another sigh.

"Very well. _You_ may floo; I will apparate and meet you there. But you will not step into that fireplace until I have _apparated_, do you understand?"

Meekly, Neville nodded.

"Yes, Gran."

He pulled on his cloak under her direction, and then waited with a pinch of floo power in his hand as his grandmother turned in place and disappeared with a _crack_.

Neville wiped his eyes, and sniffled, and let out a very tiny sigh, and then flung the pinch of powder on the fire.

"Diagon Alley!"

* * *

><p>Harry and Dudley were waiting by the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron when Sirius followed them through, wide eyed and staring around them with all the grace of tourists. He chuckled and caught them each by the shoulder, pulling them along.<p>

"Don't gawk, boys. Come on; we can come back here for lunch if you like, Tom's got a Salisbury Steak that's to die for, but I thought Dudley wanted a wand?"

Dudley jostled Harry to one side, grinned.

"Yeah! Come on, Harry – where do we go?"

Harry shrugged.

"Dunno. Never been here before; Padfoot, where're we going?"

Sirius ushered them forward, toward the back exit of the pub, and Harry and Dudley exchanged confused glances when they came out in a narrow brick alleyway, occupied only by a pair of trash cans and a significant number of weeds.

"Watch carefully, pup – you too, Dudley."

With precise movements, Sirius tapped the correct bricks in the correct order, and then stood back so the boys could see into Diagon Alley for the first time.

Noise hit them as soon as they were through, the sound of many voices, buying, selling, arguing, conversing, flirting – bells, ringing from a cart coming down the right side of the alley, shouting from a window overhead – there was a _whoosh_ of air that pressed both Dudley and Harry back against Sirius as a pair of teenagers on high-speed brooms flew by, and the two boys exchanged glances and grins.

"Wicked!"

"Wow!"

As they walked along, Harry read the signs over the shops and Dudley did his best not to stare at just about everything – and failed, of course.

"Florean Fortescue's – look, an ice cream parlor!"

"Eww – Dragon liver in a basket – I don't think I want any ice cream for a while, Harry..."

"Flourish and Blott's – that's the bookstore, right Padfoot?"

"Yes, that -"

"Ooh, Knockturn Alley! It looks dangerous - is that where the _dark _wizards go?"

"There's Ollivander's! Look, Dudley – Ollivander's, Makers Of Fine Wands Since 382 BC...wow, that means Mr. Ollivander is _really_ old!"

Dudley looked, and then turned to the other two uncertainly.

"Really? This is where you buy a magic wand? But it's so..."

The storefront was dim and dark in the brightly lit street; a single wand gleamed with polish on a faded cushion in the window.

Sirius grinned; Harry shrugged.

"Just go in, Dudley, come on -"

Harry pulled open the door, and a little bell tinkled. Dudley entered first – and knew at once that yes, this place _was _where you could buy a magic wand. The air was thick with age and dust and _magic_, magic so strong he could feel it pulsing on his skin.

"Wow..."

Harry, too, grinned and looked around. He pulled out his own wand and cradled it carefully in both hands, feeling the hum of that potent magic add to the general feeling in the room.

"Ah, Mr. Black...and Mr. Potter – and Mr. _Evans –_ how delightful. Is there any problem with your wand, Mr. Potter? I had not thought to see you again so soon..."

Harry shook his head.

"No, Mr. Ollivander. I learned my first spell last night and it works great! Thank you, for...you know."

Ollivander bowed in Harry's direction.

"Then I will assume that _you_ are here for your wand, Mr. Evans?"

Ollivander stepped out of the shadowy depths of his shop, eyes looming in the gloom, and Dudley looked around the room uncertainly before he stepped up to the counter.

"Uh...Mr. Ollivander? I'm the one who's here for my wand, but I'm Dudley Dursley; there's no one here called Evans."

Ollivander only smiled, and leaned down disconcertingly close to Dudley's face, as if imparting a secret.

"Mr. Evans, it is your mother's blood, your aunt's magic, and your cousin's presence that brought you wakened magic; your mother is an Evans. Thus it is your mother's blood, your mother's name, that will be tied to everything you do in this world. You should consider it an honor to bear that name – one of our world's great heroes bore it for much of her life..."

Ollivander's voice trailed off, and his eyes drifted to Harry, but Sirius stepped forward before Harry could make too much of it and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Be that as it may, Ollivander – the wand? For Dudley?"

"Ah...yes, of course. Your wand arm, Mr. Evans?"

"Uh...my right, sir."

"Hold out your arm, then...yes...very good."

Harry watched as Dudley went through the same process he had been through, humming to himself the little tune Ollivander had sung about wand-woods.

"That's enough, then -"

The tape measure (that had been measuring the length of Dudley's ear lobes) snapped itself up into a tight little roll and zoomed into Ollivander's hand. Swiftly, he turned to the piles of wand boxes stacked along the walls, and began to pull out several, muttering thoughtfully to himself as he went along.

"Unicorn hair...pah, that'll never work – but Thestral hair, perhaps, perhaps...hmm, no, too short, far too short! Hmm...Cherry?...oh yes – here, Mr. Evans, give this one a try!"

Dudley tried, with no effect, perhaps sixteen or seventeen wands, and then found one that warmed in his grasp and sent a flight of white sparks out to drift down like petals.

"Nice, very nice...Mahogany and Thestral hair, eleven and three quarter inches...hmm..."

Ollivander stared down at Dudley for a long moment, glanced at Harry, and then reached, not behind the counter, but _under_ it, and pulled out a dusty black box, about two feet on a side. Carefully, Ollivander undid the clasp and opened the lid; it creaked alarmingly.

"That wand is quite a good match, an excellent match, in fact - but not _perfect_. In the same way that Mr. Potter's wand was not...perfect. Not..._exactly_ his. I would like you to try these wands, Mr. Evans – there are only three of them, it will not take long. They have been crafted from legendary woods, and legendary beasts; they have been in my possession for _quite_ a long time. Here."

Unnoticed behind them, there was a faint tinkle as the door to Ollivander's shop opened, and then closed. Augusta and Neville Longbottom entered, and stood quietly, waiting their turn. Only Augusta's eyes widened as she recognized Harry Potter – and then kept silent, and refrained from gawking, as a good matron should.

One at a time, Dudley received the "legendary" wands, and felt a tingle of power with the first, a little bit stronger than the wand that had worked for him. Despite the feeling, the wand was silent, emitted no sparks. The second wand in the box, however, erupted with glittering light in his hands, shifting dark green and pale golden hues that illuminated Dudley's features like a summer day. The scent of lotus and cool waters, blue sky and meadow flowers, loomed for a single instant and then vanished.

"Wow! Mr. Ollivander...this wand – it's like its _alive_!"

Sirius, who had been in this store on numerous occasions, was surprised to see a faint shift in the normal, placid expression of Ollivander's face; almost a smile.

Then Ollivander turned to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, it seems quite foolish to let the purported Chosen One leave my shop without trying my finest wands. I did not bring them with me the night you purchased your wand; it is not...permitted...that they should leave the shop. It was with the intention of having you try them that I requested you visit me here; if you will, Mr. Potter..."

One at a time, Harry lifted each of the shining wands from their case, and was surprised to feel a flicker of energy moving through the first; none of the wands besides his parents', which had become the one Ollivander had made especially for him, had felt like anything more than a piece of dead wood in his hands.

The second wand he touched, the wand that Dudley had not tried, sent forth a brilliant illumination that coated the walls of the shop in drips and globs of silver and white light so intense they appeared liquid. Moonlight blossomed and became sun; the odor of snow and incense and crisp, sharp pine flamed outwards, and then collapsed.

Harry had to agree with Dudley – the wand felt alive in his hands, vibrating with power, with will; this was a wand that wanted to change the world.

Sirius, standing alone behind the two children, looked down at them in surprise and pleasure. He had seen that box of wands before; his brother Regulus had received the offer to try the wands in it, and had been disappointed not to be chosen by one...and more disappointed still to learn that not all the gold in the vaults of the House of Black could buy one since that was the case.

There was no doubt about it now, though – Ollivander was smiling, and it was a surprisingly pleasant expression.

"Well, Mr. Potter...I think I have no choice but to let that wand stay in your possession, it would be _very_ displeased if I did otherwise."

And then, unexpectedly, he looked up and gazed with piercing eyes slitted to crescent moons at Neville, standing unassumingly beside his grandmother, startled and awed by the play of magic he had just witnessed.

"Mr. Longbottom – would you mind coming forward? After all, there are three wands – and three boys in front of me, who did not, I think, assemble by chance."

That was all he would say, but for once, Augusta forbore from interfering with protective impulses as Neville stepped hesitantly forward and reached out with trembling fingers for the third wand. Her eyes had locked with Ollivander's; she saw knowledge in them, somehow, the knowledge of the secret which she bore alone.

_Is Neville special after all?_

Her grandson's eyes were so tightly shut – in anticipation or fear – that he did not even see the light at first; it was his grandmother's sudden intake of breath that made him open them.

Green, green as newborn spring, and grey as a thundercloud, grey as a rainy day. The scent of rich earth and growing things; immersion in cloud-odor, in the damp taste of fog. The scent of life singing – then it was gone.

The look of pleasure on Ollivander's face had intensified into something definite now, and he nodded slowly as he laid the top back on the empty box, and put it away.

"So...you are chosen, and now I will tell you what you hold. Those wands are brothers – once, they were owned by brothers. You must be like brothers yourselves to be worthy of them, to use them properly. I was told that their wood came from Yggdrasil, and that is the Tree of Life. They cannot bear to be used against each other, and they will not bear the weight of death. Mr. Potter, the core of your wand contains a hair from the mane of the Chimera."

"Wow..."

"Mr. Evans, _your _wand contains a scale from the tail of the Hydra."

Dudley looked at his wand with wide eyes.

"And you, Mr. Longbottom, possess a wand with the sap of Yggdrasil itself as its core."

Sirius looked impressed by these bits of information; the boys, and Dudley especially, looked ecstatic to be getting, not just wands, but really _cool_ wands – and now Harry had _two_. Neville was more shocked than the other two; not only had a wand actually chosen him (something he had been secretly doubting), but a wand that was a brother to Harry Potter's wand?

The boys were therefore disappointed when Ollivander reached out and took all three wands back, placed them in long boxes and then handed two of them to Sirius and one to Augusta Longbottom.

"Mr. Black, Madam Longbottom - if I may...I would recommend you keep these wands for when the boys _need_ them. The boys will find they work best together...and for the purposes they were made for."

Sirius paid eight galleons for the wand of Mahogany and Thestral hair that was to be Dudley's everyday wand and fifty galleons each for the _others. _With a bow, Ollivander let them out of his shop; Harry, Dudley, and Neville locked eyes for a moment, and then Harry grinned, and waved.

"'Find another good wand! And write us – I remember you sent me a present, once; so we're friends, okay, Neville? Bye!"

Somewhat shy in the presence of other wizards, Dudley, too, waved.

"Um...nice to meet you! Bye, Neville."

Neville was almost too shocked too wave back.

_Friends? Harry Potter...wants to be friends? With **me**_**?**

His tears from earlier in the day were forgotten; as he tried dozens of wands, he kept his eye on the one in his grandmother's hands, reminding himself that he _was _magic, that he was _not_ a squib, that he _could _be special -

Until he finally found a wand amidst the piles of Ollivander's more ordinary stock.

"Ten and one quarter inches, Whomping Willow, with a core of sap from the same tree. An interesting choice, Mr. Longbottom – or rather, how interesting that _it_ chose _you_."

* * *

><p>Outside, Harry and Dudley blinked in the sunlight, and Dudley was ecstatically pleased to be allowed to keep his wand, just as Harry was. Sirius showed them how to keep a wand in the holster that was a part of every wizard's robe, and then looked between the two of them, tapping a finger on his lip thoughtfully.<p>

"So – that's the most important thing, and the main reason for our trip, but we've got a whole day ahead of us. Let's see...it's only eleven o'clock, but you two were up early; shall we go to Flourish and Blott's and then stop at Fortescue's for lunch? Then we'll have the afternoon to find some brooms."

He was answered by enthusiastic nods.

Flourish and Blott's was only a few steps behind them, and Sirius was pleased to see Harry rush off at once between the shelves. He had never seen so many magic books in one place before! Dudley, on the other hand, was confused. He had never enjoyed reading much, preferring to play with toys or video games, or to watch TV. The books he had been forced to read for his primary school classes were always dull.

But he was holding out hope simply because these were, as Sirius had said, _magic_ books. Books that were magical, books that could teach him magic...

Idly, he wandered over to a section that was brightly colored; most of the books were bound in brilliant green or blue leather, and he reached into his pocket and drew out the money his father had given him before he left home. Thirty pounds – he wondered how much stuff that would buy in the wizarding world? He was surprised by Sirius' sudden presence behind him.

"Dudley, I completely forgot – you've only got muggle money, haven't you?'

Dudley nodded forlornly.

"I should've brought you two to Gringott's right off – but never mind, we can go after lunch. Just grab any books you see and I'll pick them up with Harry's, all right? He's already got half a dozen on the counter."

Dudley grinned, and thanked Sirius profusely; he couldn't help thinking that wizard books must be expensive, but judging from the way Sirius tossed gold coins around, he had to be pretty rich. Maybe it was okay?

Hesitantly, he stuffed the pound notes back in his pocket, and reached out for a book with a bright green cover.

"_Wizards Who Lived With Muggles: Excerpts From Lives Of Hidden Genius_...hey, that's people like me! Wizards who lived with muggles...I wonder what else is in this section?"

He had stumbled into Ancient Wizarding History, books about the Lost Arts of Magic and the days before the Great Separation, but Dudley was just pleased to know that he wasn't the only wizard to come from non-magic parents. Harry talked about his mother occasionally, and how she had been "muggleborn", but the books were proof that there were _lots_ of other people just like Dudley.

Carefully perusing titles, he found two other books that looked interesting. One was called _Dreams of Power: Magic of the Sleeping Mind_. He thought learning magic in his sleep would be pretty useful for school; it would mean less studying, right?

The other was a thick, leather bound tome with scuffed edges and worn pages entitled _Magic: A History_. The title almost put him off, but he looked inside first – and was glad he did. Swirling arabesques of color formed into a title before his eyes; as he flipped a few pages, startling scenes of wizards, magical creatures, and great works of power flashed before him.

The book was big – enormous, actually - and at first he thought it might be too expensive - even though the pictures at the beginning were _awesome_ and he _really_ wanted it. Then he thought about it, and considered the worn condition of the pages and the cover. Maybe it was a _used _magic book, so it would be less?

Politely, still unsure, Dudley made sure to ask Padfoot about the book – but Sirius only nodded and grinned and lumped it in with the rest of the pile, barely even looking at it. Harry had chosen five books for each of Dudley's, and Dudley saw interesting titles like _Charms for the Charming,_ _Beasts: Magical Creatures for the Complete Novice, _and _Wand-Making: A Historie of the Secrete Arte_. There was also a set of five with threatening pirates on their covers, a new series from Magical Adventure Press that starred a Captain with a peg leg and a single eye. As Dudley watched, the Captain clenched a fist and shook it up at him; suddenly, reading seemed _much_ more interesting.

By the time all their books were paid for and packed away, shrunken and tucked into Sirius' pocket, even Harry was ready to leave the bookstore and get to Fortescue's; lunch would be welcome, but more than that was the anticipation of ice cream; glorious ice cream!

* * *

><p>Dudley, a connoisseur of sweets, was completely blown away by what the Wizarding World had to offer. In Fortescue's there were sundaes like those he had grown up with, ice cream that was vanilla and chocolate, but also strange flavors that seemed mysterious and wizardly, such as <em>Pumpkin Juice<em> and _Dragon's Breath_.Otherdishes were labeled with strange effects; Butterbeer Float, Volcanic Brownie Sundae, and something called a Banana Tap Dance.

Completely overwhelmed, both Harry and Dudley trusted to Sirius' recommendation and ordered Volcanic Brownie Sundaes with Weightless Whipped Cream Clouds.

At the entrance to Fortescue's, there was suddenly a loud exclamation of "We want one of _those_!", and Harry saw two identical red-headed boys pointing at the display of sundaes that had caught his and Dudley's attention. Their mother was quick to scold them, but Harry overheard her tirade and was suddenly struck by a thought: were these his pen-pals?

"_Now, you know we're here for your school things, and that -Fred! Stop pointing at other people's food -"_

After all, how many identical wizard twins were there, with one twin named Fred?

Harry slid himself out of his booth, and walked across to the two boys and their mother. Seeing who it was that was walking across the Ice Cream Parlor, a great deal of conversation stopped.

"Excuse me..."

"_And the next time, I'll bring you right home!_"

"Excuse..."

"Yes, dear? What is...oh! My goodness, Harry Potter, you gave me a start!"

Harry blinked, and then shrugged. Once – just once – he would like to have to introduce himself to a wizard or witch; just _once_!

"Sorry about that ma'am, I didn't mean to startle you; but I wondered...are you two Fred'n George Weasley?"

He peered around her at her sons, and the two red-haired boys exchanged glances, and then grinned.

"That would be us, Harry!"

"Yep! But aren't you a _little _one! Smaller than Ron you are!"

"Better writing though!"

Harry scowled as their mother – Molly Weasley, he remembered – swatted each of them upside the head.

"Be nice!"

But after a moment, Harry only shrugged and grinned.

"Padfoot says that Potters are always late getting growth spurts, but we catch up eventually, so watch out!"

He looked up at Mrs. Weasley then.

"Thanks for the sweaters and treats on my birthday and Christmas, Mrs. Weasley, they're always really nice - "

With a suspiciously damp-looking smile on her face, Mrs. Weasley dragged Harry into a bone-crushing hug.

"You silly boy! It's the _least _I can do. Now, you aren't here all alone, are you?"

Harry's _no_ was muffled in her bosom, and she let go of him hastily.

"Sorry, dear. Now, let's see...well, if it isn't Sirius Black! And is that...who is _that_, dear?"

"Oh – sorry; Mrs. Weasley, my Godfather Padf – Sirius Black, and my Cousin, Dudley Du-"

But Dudley jostled him into silence.

"Dudley _Evans_, Ma'am. Very pleased to meet you."

Fred and George snickered as Dudley wiped his fingers on a napkin and bent over their mother's hand, but Mrs. Weasley was suitably impressed.

"Well, aren't you the pair of little gentlemen! I know a few boys who could_ certainly _learn a thing or two from you..."

Sirius caught a glimpse of Fred and George making faces at their mother behind her back, and was forced to suppress a chuckle. What a pair!

"Molly, why don't you and your boys sit and have some ice cream with us; my treat!"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, and then smiled hesitantly.

"I wouldn't want to put you out, Sirius -"

Harry joined in attempting to convince her.

"Come on, Mrs. Weasley! Fred'n George have been my pen pals for years now, but I've never met them before -"

Suddenly surrounded by five boyish pairs of puppy-dog eyes, Mrs. Weasley had no choice but to cooperate with the inevitable.

"All right, all right, I suppose an ice cream wouldn't hurt..."

Dudley slid all the way into the booth, and Harry scooted in beside him, making room for Fred and George while Mrs. Weasley sat next to Sirius.

"Now, let's see...I think I heard you boys yelping about Volcanic Brownie Sundae's – great choice by the way!"

And Sirius signaled Florean for "two more" before Molly could protest about the fact that the Volcanic Brownie Sundae was probably the most expensive item on the menu.

When they came – along with two Butterbeer floats for the adults – all four boys sat with wide open mouths and even wider eyes.

The brownie was Transfigured into the shape of a mountain, while rivers of red but chocolate ice cream flowed slowly down the sides. Somehow, the ice cream had been spelled to both stay cold, and flow like lava; the clouds were whipped cream and cookies-and-whipped-cream in imitation of ash. They stayed floating four inches above the volcano until they were devoured.

Finally, when even Dudley was stuffed and the twins and Harry had resorted to naming their toothpicks and then leaping them off the remnants of their brownie mountains and into the gooey frozen "lava" to their "doom", Sirius and Mrs. Weasley discussed the necessities of each of their respective shopping trips – Quality Quidditch Supplies, Tameran's Toys, and the London Wizarding Zoo were on Sirius' list, while Mrs. Weasley still needed to bring Fred and George to Madam Malkin's, the Apothecary, Nib and Feather (the stationers), and Tidbits and Tomes (the second-hand bookstore).

"And then I _mustn't_ forget to stop at Abbott's and pick up a fish for dinner...Fred, George, remind me before we leave the Alley. Fred – _George! _Stop that at once -"

Mrs. Weasley had turned away from Sirius just in time to see a toothpick named Ginny go diving headfirst into ice cream lava.

"Now...let's see...Fred, George, where did you put your school lists?"

Two equally crumpled pieces of parchment came out of two pockets.

"Here, mum."

"All right...now, listen carefully. We are going to go to Madam Malkin's, and get the two of you some Hogwarts robes – and then while I do the rest of the shopping, Sirius has offered to watch you along with Harry and Dudley. If you _behave _in Madam Malkin's then perhaps you can visit the Zoo with them later - _**if**__ you __**behave**_!"

Fred and George exchanged glances and high fives.

"Wicked!"

"Brilliant!"

And then they spoke to Sirius in unison.

"Thanks, Mr. Black!"

Not for the first time, Sirius winced.

"Just call me Sirius, all right boys? Now – we all done here?"

There were nods all around.

"All right! Molly, we'll meet you outside Madam Malkin's...shall we say in half an hour?"

"That should be fine. Fred, George, come along – we'll see you in a bit, Harry, Dudley."

* * *

><p>As soon as the twins had left with their mother, Sirius shooed Harry and Dudley out the door and across the street, where a crowd was gathered, as always, around the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies.<p>

"All right...now, you two – and you especially, Harry, knowing what I do about your father and brooms – need to keep two things in mind. One – _don't_ tell Petunia how fast your broom is, and two, _don't_ tell the Weasley boys you're getting new brooms."

Harry nodded, but Dudley looked puzzled.

"I get it about my mum, cause she always looks like she's gonna have a heart attack when we go flying – but why not Fred'n George? Do they not like flying?"

Sirius snorted.

"Not likely. Chances are they're quidditch _crazy_ – that's not the problem. No...it's just that the Weasley's haven't got much money, and they've got _seven_ kids. No reason to make new friends jealous -"

Harry interrupted.

"Hey Dud, y'know how your mum always gives me those lectures about "flaunting" every Christmas?"

Dudley grinned.

"Don't I!"

"Well, it's like that. Since they don't have a lot of new stuff, it'd be rude for us to brag about ours."

"Oh..."

Dudley contemplated this. Harry had known the Weasley's were poor since Fred'n George had explained in a letter two years before how irritated their brother Percy had been to start Hogwarts with their eldest brother's wand. The twins had been more ambitious, and had spent the last three years – since the Percy Incident – saving every bit of pocket money they had in order to be able to purchase their own wands.

"Okay. I won't say anything...but aren't they going to see the brooms anyway? I mean, they're kind of big!"

Harry grinned, and Sirius just winked.

"Magic, Dudley! Don't forget we're wizards."

And with those words, he pushed open the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies, and watched both pairs of eyes go wide and round as saucers.

"Wow - "

"Wicked! Brooms -"

And then they were off. Dudley darted to one wall, where a display of quidditch equipment was constrained in cage of magical force; a pair of Bludgers were wildly bludgeoning, and a tiny, delicately winged Snitch fluttered here and there, occasionally zapping back and forth with such speed that it became a momentary blur.

Harry, on the other hand, had immediately veered toward the best – as in fastest, most streamlined, newest, and definitely most dangerous – broom, and was staring at it with longing in his eyes. The proprietor of the store, sensing both a potential sale and a possible threat to his merchandise, made his way over to the broom's display stand rather quickly.

"Hello, young man, interested in the _Starfire_, are you?"

Harry nodded, and reached out one hand to run a finger along the perfectly aligned twigs of the broom's tail.

"Ah yes, she's a beauty – made by Cosmos, the creators of the old _Silver Arrow_...now there was a fine broom, been years since I've seen one of those..."

Sirius strode up behind Harry, sensing that he would soon be needed, and within a very short time he had negotiated a price for, not one, but _two_ brand new _Starfire_ brooms, and had arranged for them to be owled direct to Grim's Playground.

* * *

><p>While children laughed and gained friendships, training, and strength, a voiceless spirit of malice wended its way through the country, gathering intelligence, slinking in shadows, combing corners for truths.<p>

It lived it its own thoughts, trapped in a void empty of feeling, empty of light, of color...but it could _perceive_. It could remember. It could think, and plan...and listen.

Waiting.

_Eight...years. So much...__**time**__! And still, they do not...come. _

_Fools!_

_It is...well...that I trusted...none of them. When I am...enfleshed...once more..._

_When I am enfleshed...they will...regret it. And this boy...this...**remarkable**...boy, this...Boy-Who-Lived. _

_Harry Potter!_

_I will...**destroy** him._

* * *

><p>AN: And a whisper of darkness, in the midst of a happy interlude! I'm sure, though I haven't said explicitly, that everyone knows who the "voiceless spirit of malice" is; more next chapter, because it certainly won't end up where you might expect!

Also wands, bookstores, and a mysterious History... keep that in mind folks, we'll see it again sooner rather than later. Oh – and because someone is inevitably going to ask – in this story, there are no such things as Horcruxes. Or rather...let us say that if there was such a thing, it would be very different than what JK has created. Heh. There may, however, be Hallows – I linger on the edge of making them the motivating purpose behind much of the story, since everything JK created Horcruxes for can just as easily (if not more easily) be explained with Hallows.

Please Review!


	11. Chapter 10: Of Light and Darkness

****- _Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams_ -****

**Chapter 10**

_**Of Light And Darkness**_

* * *

><p><em>There was an interlude of silence; time, nearly ten years time of peace. It was more than many hoped for and less that anyone truly wished...for by the time the darkness had returned, even its servants were less than pleased. Most had spent ten years restoring careful facades of public harmony, becoming comfortable with the luxury of polite society. Only the true sadists welcomed Voldemort when he returned; the few who had retained minds and magic after almost ten years of Azkaban's terror...<em>

_ - From A Modern Wizarding History, By Datru Thov Depast_

* * *

><p>The selection and purchase of brooms had taken less than fifteen minutes, so Sirius allowed himself to be talked into bringing the boys to Gringotts. Dudley wanted to exchange the thirty pounds his father had given him for wizarding money, and Harry was interested just to see the goblins and their bank. The marble doors gave way to silver doors, inscribed with words of warning, but Harry was too distracted by the immense space behind those doors, and Dudley was occupied staring at one of the goblins who had bowed them in.<p>

"Boy, do you need my assistance?"

The goblin startled Dudley by speaking, and he jumped – and then rubbed his head sheepishly and shrugged.

"Uh...well, not really – but I've never seen a goblin before, so I was curious. And plus, you bowed, and I didn't know if I should bow back?"

Sirius stared down at Dudley with a mixture of confusion and amusement; the goblin's reaction didn't imply any danger, but one never knew...and especially, Dudley did not know. The goblin appeared to be considering, and then spoke in grating tones.

"You might bow, if you wish to be polite – which staring is not."

Dudley flushed at the pointed comment, but all the same, he bowed back to the goblin and proceeded to take a few steps forward into the bank. He stopped to look back, and Harry and Sirius followed him in. Harry bowed to the goblin on his side of the great silver doors, and Sirius did the same, an amused expression still on his face. For no reason he could explain, he felt as if he had just been part of a masterful prank, only without knowing what it had been.

Shaking off the feeling, he led the boys up to the currency exchange counter and Dudley pulled his money from his pocket.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Dudley gained the attention of a bespectacled, elderly looking goblin, and held up thirty pounds.

"I'd like to exchange this, please, for galleons."

The goblin took the pound notes in his hand and looked at them closely, then passed them beneath a crystal suspended in a bronze holder and nodded his head.

"Your name for the registry?"

"Dudley Evans, sir."

"Evans, Dudley...currency exchange...very well. Minus a transaction fee of five knuts, and you receive four galleons, eleven sickles, and four knuts."

As he spoke, the goblin counted out the appropriate amounts and denominations of coins. Dudley's eyes grew wide as the pile grew; he knew it was the same amount of money he'd had earlier, but it looked much more impressive as a sparkling stack of coins.

"Thank you very much, sir."

"...of course. May Gringotts provide any other service for you today?"

"Um...well, I don't really think I have enough money now, but how do you open an account? My dad says you should save now to spend later."

"An admirable sentiment. To open an account with Gringotts, you are required to provide a drop of blood for account verification, a deposit of at least one galleon, and, because you are a minor, you will require the signature of an adult wizard or witch."

Dudley looked thoughtful, and then nodded decisively.

"Okay, then – can I deposit one galleon, one sickle, and one knut, and open an account? If – if you don't mind signing, Padfoot."

"Nah, that's fine Dudley."

The goblin nodded, and, seemingly pleased, withdrew a sheet of parchment from a stack near his left hand.

"Very well, name...Dudley Evans; account status, new...opening balance, one galleon, one sickle, one knut...and your thumb, Mr. Evans, for the verification -"

Dudley stood on tiptoes and stuck out his hand, reaching over the counter. The goblin raised a wicked looking metal spike, but barely touched it to Dudley's thumb to draw the required drop of blood.

The drop fell from the tip of the spike to the piece of parchment, and then the parchment rolled itself up and vanished in a puff of red smoke. Dudley took his remaining money off the counter and dropped it into his pocket, and then made a sort of half-bow toward the goblin behind the counter, thinking it might be polite.

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank _you_, Mr. Evans."

Sirius hurried the boys along as they made their way out of the bank; their half hour was almost up, but Madam Malkin's was near the bank and they managed to be waiting outside before Mrs. Weasley was quite through.

Harry and Dudley occupied themselves by making faces at the twins through the storefront glass, and in less than five minutes Mrs. Weasley had finished her purchases and was shooing the twins out of the shop in front of her.

"So, are we all ready? I haven't been to the zoo in years, should be loads of fun-"

The four boys let out a whoop in unison.

"Now Fred, George -"

"Aw, _mum_ -"

"Don't mum me – you behave, and listen to Sirius, and for goodness sake don't do anything foolish with the animals!"

"Yes, mum -"

"Yes, mum."

* * *

><p>Sirius had chosen, accidentally, a very exciting day to visit the London Wizarding Zoo. The Zoo was celebrating the return of one of its more spectacular exhibits – the Chinese Fireball – after a ten year absence while the dragon mated and hatched her eggs at a reserve in the Far East.<p>

Harry, Dudley, Fred, and George were all ecstatic; Sirius was rather pleased with himself, forgetting that he had not had any foreknowledge of the dragon's return. Deciding to save the best for last, they wandered from one habitat to another, peering through the enclosures at strange beasts. In the south section, nearest the entrance, they found Laughing Apes and the elusive Shadow Lemur. The Laughing Apes were easy to spot, but the Shadow Lemurs flitted from one patch of darkness to another with only their large and luminescent eyes visible.

Beyond the primates were the cats – wild Kneazles, Spotless Leopards, Ember Panthers, and a pair of Sphinxes. Dudley watched the Kneazles stalk back and forth; Harry was enraptured by the flames that flickered occasionally on the Panther's coats, and the twins stood in front of the Sphinxes, listening to their riddles:

"_One light, one white, one day, one night; Two shine, two glow – speak their names, if names you know!"_

"_To start, start time; many victories, means the rest. Who will speak the answer? Which of you knows best?"_

Both boys laughed, and opened their mouths at the same time – but Sirius covered them quickly with his hands and nodded toward the sign hovering above the Sphinx enclosure.

_**Zoo Management Thanks You For Not Answering The Riddles**_

Sirius let them go after they read it, and shrugged at their matching scowls.

"What? Don't you know that if you answer the riddle wrong, a Sphinx will spend the rest of its life trying to kill you? Sphinxes live _much_ longer than wizards – not to mention, the zoo'll lose its exhibit if they're chasing after you two."

Fred and George paled, and backed away quickly; Sirius chuckled, and called to Harry and Dudley.

"Come on, boys, lots more to see."

Beside the Cats were the Equines – A pair of golden Unicorn foals, glistening in the sun and chasing each other around the edges of their enclosure. Three Pegasi, strutting with their wings unfurled proudly, shaking their feathers and manes as if for a female. The next enclosure appeared empty to Dudley, but Sirius walked up to the fence and Harry followed him, wide-eyed.

"Sirius, what're those?"

"Thestrals, Harry. You can see them?"

"Yeah, why? Can't you?"

Sirius' brow crinkled.

"Well...yes, _I _can, but...I didn't think either of you would be able to. Dudley, can you see them?"

"No; I was wondering what you two were looking at. What's in there?"

Harry snickered as one of the Thestrals approached the edge of the fence and _huffed_; Dudley's hair plumed in a puff of air from an invisible source, and he jumped back from the edge of the enclosure and almost fell.

Fred and George wandered over together from where they had been making faces at a Hippogriff – not the most intelligent of pastimes, but the cages were strong enough and the Hippogriffs were used to foolish passersby.

"Hey! Is that Thestrals?"

"We can't see them, but they're supposed to be-"

"**Really awesome!**"

Sirius nodded, and Harry leaned forward a bit more; there was a Thestral foal near the edge of the enclosure, and despite the skeletal look and gray, misty flesh, it was kinda...cute. Dudley looked once more toward the "empty" pen, and then shrugged and followed the twins to the last paddock in the Equine area, which was smoking ominously.

"_Wow_ -"

"_Amazing!_"

"_No way!_"

Three equally breathless exclamations sounded off; in a magically enlarged and cooled paddock, a single red-eyed horse, flame dancing as mane and tail, paced back and forth at the edge of its containment barrier, snorting licks of flame.

"Hey, Padfoot?"

Harry's eyes were drawn back over his shoulder.

"Yeah, pup? Something wrong?"

"Well, no – but...why can you and I see Thestrals, and Dudley and the twins not?"

Sirius looked rather grim for a moment, and rested a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Only those who are touched by Death – those who have watched another human being pass on – can see a Thestral. Some people think they're bad luck because of that, but it's all just superstition; I like them, even if they are a bit...different."

Harry nodded, and Sirius squeezed his shoulder and then nudged him forward.

"Go on, now, gawk at the flaming horsey with the others -"

The _flaming horsey_ looked up sharply, and pierced Sirius with a glaze from inhuman eyes like sparking embers.

"Uh...anyway, moving on, boys, moving on."

In the next section, they passed by a series of smaller cages, containing such creatures as Nifflers, Pixies, a Rubber Mimic, Vicious Tree Moles, and, at the very end of the row, a trio of rare Velveteen Rabbits. Dudley was thrilled to see the little creatures, and immediately began harassing one of the zoo keepers, trying to find out if it was possible to have one for his very own.

Sirius dragged him away with the other boys to the reptile house, apologizing profusely to the zoo keeper. Dudley was embarrassed but Sirius just shook his head and slung an arm around Dudley's shoulder, leaning close.

"Now, I'm guessing since you want one so bad, you've read that book, haven't you?"

Flushing slightly, Dudley stammered his answer with a sideways glance to ensure Fred and George weren't listening in.

"Not..not really – my mum used to read it to me when I was little. It was the only story I really liked."

Sirius nodded.

"Well, then you know what happens at the end of the story, don't you? Velveteen Rabbits are rare, and it's illegal to have them at home – because whenever they are truly loved, they die and are reborn as real rabbits."

Dudley let out a long sigh – but he was quickly distracted by the long, shimmering movement of a real Diamondback Rattlesnake. He joined Fred and George by the tank, and stared at the gorgeous, glittering scales of the snake, which appeared to be real diamonds.

"Wow..."

"Can you imagine how much it'd be worth?"

"Probably a million galleons!"

Sirius was amusing himself watching a pair of Parrot Toads argue, and so between the fascination of the Diamondback and Sirius' snorts of laughter, it was some time before anyone noticed that Harry was standing very quietly, hunched over in front of a long, shaded terrarium. He was focused on a pair of eyes, brilliant blue eyes, because the body behind them was so black that it faded into the shadows of the enclosure.

He was focused because words were coming from the darkness, and occasionally he could see a glimmer of white, fangs shining beneath the blue eyes.

"_Ssso foolish, __ssso __foolish...ssscalelessss flesh, ssso vulnerable...witlesss wizardsss...witlesss __wizardsss can't ssspeak nor ssspell__..."_

"_Hey! That'sss not very __niccce__ of you to sssay!_"

From the darkness of the enclosure, rustling became a sensate sound and Harry watched a shadow draw itself up and coil into loops of darkness. Dudley came up behind him as the snake was moving out into the light, and breathed out a low, expressive, "_Wicked!_"_._

Harry jumped a little, and then turned his eyes to the plaque beside the tank, confused; had he really understood a snake? Talked to one? The information provided didn't help any: _Shadowscale Serpent_, native to southern India, Sri Lanka, and the jungles of China's deep interior. Harry scanned the other information – scales of iridescent magic, attuned to shadows for protection and stealth – but nothing about it _talking. _

"_Hey, Dudley, did you hear the sssnake sssay anything? I could've sssworn..."_

But he got no response from Dudley, who was looking at him very strangely before the serpent before them reacted to Harry's snake-tongued words.

"_Sssnake! Ssspeaking wizard, I am no mere ssnake, I am the Shadowssscale!"_

Thrashing, the Shadowscale flung itself against the barrier of glass, but was restrained. Harry backed away from it, confused, shaking his head.

Dudley walked along beside him, grinning, looking back at the blue eyes in the tank as the rest of the serpent's body faded back into the shadows again.

"That was pretty awesome, huh Harry! Harry?"

Harry stared back over his shoulder.

"Yeah...hey, but Dudley you really didn't hear anything?"

"Huh?"

"Back there. You didn't hear – you didn't hear that snake talking, did you?"

"No, just you making weird hissing sounds. Hey, can you talk to the snake, do you think?"

"I...I dunno. I'll ask Padfoot later – that would...that would be pretty cool though, right? If I could?"

Dudley grinned.

"Yeah! Hey, maybe you can teach me and then we can get an army of snakes to get in all the girl's beds once we get to Hogwarts!"

Harry snickered and ran along, tugging at the sleeve of Dudley's borrowed robe.

"Come on, we better catch up with Padfoot and the twins."

The aforementioned trio had made their way out of the small creatures exhibits and into the dim, blue-lit aquarium rooms. There was a long line on the left beside a sign that said _Gillyweed Aquarium Tours_, but Sirius shuffled them forward into the main portion of the exhibit.

"Gillyweed is fun, but if you want to use it properly we'll go to White Island and tour the reefs; way better than an aquarium. They've got some wicked sharks down here, though – look!"

And indeed, through the barriers that enclosed the shimmering waters around them numerous magical sharks and fish were visible. A single Disillusioned Mako Shark moved slowly through the water; only it's teeth were visible, and its eye; the rest of its body looked like the water in which it swam.

The boys stared into the tanks for a while, but they were all getting hungry at this point, having had nothing but ice cream since breakfast, and there was still a good deal to see, including the dragon. Sirius brought the boys to lunch at the zoo restaurant, which was beneath the curving arc of the aquarium tanks they had just been peering into. Light filtered down across their table with a rippling blue hue; their sandwiches were delicious, the butterbeer cool and foaming, and when they had finished the five stood and stretched and agreed that they were ready for the other half of the zoo.

It was just past two when they finally made their way through the magical insects, past the lizards, and up to the final, enormous enclosure where the Chinese Fireball was kept. The sound of roaring that the boys had expected was missing, and when they got up to the top of the viewing platform where they could look down over the sandpit, they saw that they were nearly the only people there. The dragon was sleeping, tail curled around her body and smoke rising from her nostrils, but despite the lack of activity the dragon was still impressive.

"She's _beautiful_ -"

Dudley stared down with wide eyes; half his games had just come to life in front of his eyes, breathing steam and fire from forty feet of red scaled glory.

"Isn't she beautiful, Harry?"

But Harry was not paying attention to his cousin. He was leaning out over the edge of the platform under Sirius' watchful eye, and he was laughing to himself quietly.

"What's so funny, Harry? Harry?"

And then Harry spoke again in that sibilant, hissing voice, and Fred and George fell back in half-fearful silence; even Sirius stared.

"_Sssilly dragon'sss talking in her sssleep. She mussst really like bacon or sssomething."_

And Dudley spoke again, his voice quavering.

"H-Harry? What...what are you saying? You're doing it again, Harry."

And Harry blinked and turned away from the snake and back to his cousin.

"Huh? What'd I do, Dud?"

But it was Sirius, pale faced and sweating slightly, who crouched beside Harry and looked him in the eye.

"You were _hissing_, Harry, and I've heard that sound before. Can you talk to snakes, Harry? Are you a parselmouth?"

Harry stared.

"A _what_ mouth? I talked to that Shadowscale earlier, but I haven't seen a snake before that – and I can understand _her_, too, but isn't that just magic?"

At that Sirius sighed and stood up.

"_Her_, Harry?"

"Yeah, the dragon. It's a her, right?"

The twins came close again, and swallowed, and laid each a hand on Harry's shoulders.

"Harry, mate -"

"You _are_ a parselmouth. Boy is our brother Charlie going to be jealous of you!"

At that Sirius relaxed a little, but he leaned forward and shook his head.

"Fred, George, you can't tell anyone about this. Harry – Dudley, same goes for you. Parseltongue is not a language that many can speak, and those who _can_ speak it have given it a very bad reputation. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a parselmouth; do you understand, Harry?"

Harry scowled.

"Yeah, but – if evil wizards gave it a bad reputation, can't I be a good wizard and give it a good reputation?"

Sirius blinked.

"Well, maybe. But you're only nine years old, Harry. You've got plenty of time to be a hero and change reputations and all that stuff when you're older."

He shooed them out of the enclosure then, because it was getting late and he and Harry and Dudley still had shopping to do – and Molly would be waiting for the twins...

* * *

><p>The long shadows of the dark forest stirred with whispers and with night, though the sun was not yet set and the horizon was still hung with banners of orange and crimson color. Within those shadows was a moving presence, a vaporous essence that had awaited the passing of long years and the restoration of its strength, only to be thwarted by the boundaries of its fleshless form.<p>

He counseled patience within himself, and quiet, and murmured sweet nothings of sleep, sweet sleep and immortality...

But the enchantment of _patience_ and_ wait, wait, just a little longer, wait_, could no longer seduce the strength of his will into silence. With such ease that it was ridiculous, the spirit slipped within a shape, a shape that pleased him in a certain sense, for this was a speaking, sentient being, magic in essence if not in form.

He turned the serpent's head toward the west, the setting sun, and began the long journey back to the land from whence he had come.

In the serpent's shape, he moved more slowly, far more slowly – but he was able to pick up currents of information as he passed through dark corners and shadows and the cities of men. Even in the body of a mere snake he retained a magical presence that allowed him access to hidden doorways and secret alleys, and in these places he learned as much as he could about his homeland, which once he had held in the palm of his hand, and now was stolen from him, held by his enemies...

The further west he went, the more he learned. Several times, he changed his _habitation_, for the stress of hosting his mind and power was one for which the bodies he found were not suited – but for the loan of their senses, he continued to use them, occasionally flitting from one city to another in vaporous shape, just to speed the journey along.

It took an entire month for him to make his way to France, and the coasts that led westward to the nation of his birth, and rise...and fall.

_My defeat...at the hands of that...child! That...infant. I will destroy him! I will find his...secrets, his...hiding places. And then his life will be mine!_

It was not hard work to listen near the docks for the sound of voices speaking tongues he knew, and when he found a ship that was soon to make its way across the narrow bridge of sea to England's lonely isle he stowed away out of sight, away from the cold salt spray, and waited.

Thus it was that on the morning of September first, Voldemort, who long had been in hiding, waiting in a spirit's essence for some change of fortune, some twist of fate – Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, disembarked in the shape of a serpent, from a muggle ferry carrying tourists from the coast of France to Great Britain.

In a muggle's trunk, hidden behind a large bit of a luggage and a spare tire, the snake that carried the spirit of the Dark Lord made its way into London – and there, in the tangle of alleyways and shops that made up the city's center, Voldemort found Diagon Alley, and the wizarding world in which he had gained power.

What he found were rumors, whispers of politics, conversations and family troubles, haggling and the cries of shopkeepers and the vendors on the street hawking their wares, the hissing of the few snakes that inhabited the alley, the sounds of mice and the footsteps of men, and, louder to other senses, the footsteps of their magic.

As he had done to the muggles, he did here, following through the shadows until he found a man who was going where he wanted to go – to the ministry of magic, to the Department of Records and Inheritances.

There was a boy he wanted to check on, a boy whose name he knew and whose address he _had_ to find.

The man slipped through the floo with a snake attachd to his robes and didn't notice; on the other side, in his office, he did – but it was too late then, for something dark and smokey and violent in its purpose drew up out of the snake and forced itself into his nostrils, into his mouth and his ears and even into the sockets of his eyes.

Then he was dead, for all intents and purposes, and only Lord Voldemort was left.

He found quickly enough what he wanted to know, and abandoned the man's dying body on the desk in the office; it would be found later, and no one would understand, and no one would ask the right questions.

Not until far too late.

* * *

><p>AN: Ah...long time no post. Apologies indeed; look forward to more, sooner rather than later, because I'm intent on finishing up a few fics at at time. Plus I actually have some idea where this is going now. I hereby dedicate this chapter to everyone who actually was reading it before and is reading it again now, for I am glad you stuck out the wait!

Please Review!


	12. Chapter 11: Enter Shadow

**_-Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams-_**

**Chapter 11**

_**Enter Shadow**_

* * *

><p><em>The wizarding world is a dark and dangerous place. If you had told us in the beginning what we know now, none of us would be here: the power to change the world is nothing when it is also held in the hands of men who love death. If you had told us in the beginning that we had been born with an enemy, a madman who would hunt us for the blood in our veins - perhaps the rest would have been shadowed enough for us to escape the siren's song of magic. <em>

-From _The Mudblood Manifesto, _distributed anonymously during the first days of the Second Serpent War.

* * *

><p>Harry and Dudley spent the month of August busy and happy. During the week they helped Petunia around the house, played outside with friends from school, and spent a few too many hours crushing dark powers with their heroic might on the computer. The weekends they spent with Padfoot; Saturday they would make an excursion to somewhere in the wizarding world – Diagon Alley, a broom race, a quidditch game, a zoo, a museum – and Sunday they would spend indoors, practicing spells, playing games, reading and writing and learning the fine art of mischief from one of its chief practitioners.<p>

Harry preferred a quidditch game or a broom race to almost anything, and spent most of each Sunday begging Sirius for "just a bit more time" on his broom. Dudley, on the other hand, had developed a fondness for exploding snap and wizard's chess, and also liked to spend a good deal of time with his nose buried in the enormous book he had purchased at Flourish and Blott's.

_Magic: A History_ seemed to him like a dream come true, and he found himself hoping that even one of his textbooks would be half as exciting; by the first of September, Harry had mastered the Wronski Feint on his Starfire broom, Dudley had read three hundred pages in a chapter entitled "Whence Comes The Wizard", and both boys could manage to write their alphabet with a quill without suffering _too_ badly from ink stains. Harry thought writing with a quill was a pain; Dudley thought it was cool, even if it meant they had to practice for part of their time with Padfoot every weekend.

The spells they learned were more exciting for both boys, and though the first two weeks with their wands had been tricky, the third was much easier – by the end of the month, Vernon was even asking Dudley to Draw the remote control from the couch cushions when it got lost using _prope_. Both boys were pleased to keep some of the more _interesting _magic they had learned to themselves – the halving charm, for instance, which would divide any object exactly in two, or the Chameleon jinx, a prank hex that would cause the hair color of the target to cycle through a rainbow of colors.

Petunia was most pleased with _lavare_, the washing charm; she never had to wash either boy's walls or floor any more, and because it was magic neither complained about chores like washing the dishes, either – though she'd had to make them wash Vernon's car by hand, considering that the neighbors could see them.

All in all, the family at number four, Privet Drive, was doing quite well, and even Petunia was beginning to believe that magic might not be as much trouble or pain as she had expected.

Harry was especially bouncy that evening of September first, and Dudley was also excited; they were waiting for news of Fred and George Weasley's sorting. The twins had promised to send a letter with a school owl the minute they were allowed, so Petunia was had allowed Harry and Dudley to stay up until midnight, just this one night. That way they would be able to read the letter they were expecting as soon as it arrived.

Soon enough, a brown, nondescript owl tapped at the kitchen window shortly past eleven, and Harry went for it excitedly. He and Dudley read the letter out loud in whispers; Vernon was already asleep, but Petunia had stayed awake, yawning and checking her watch while she flipped through late night talk shows on the telly.

_Harry - _

_**S****ay hello to the world's newest Slytherin pranksters! **Our mum'll go half ballistic, we think but – **only half, because Percy already got in Ravenclaw the year before last, and –** it got her used to the idea that we weren't all going to be in Gryffindor. **Percy said ****he wrote ****something in his ****letter ****to her ****about how pranksters can't –** really be evil, but we might decide to prove him wrong. Anyway Harry, we'll –** make sure the school is ready for you! Send us your thoughts on how we can**** – **get started; half our House is gits, we can tell that already, and our Head has - **no sense of humor! Anyway, do you still have that book, The Wandless Art for Children? **It had a potion we really want to try on some of our Housemates –** you know, the one that makes your tongue come out your nose?** If it works, we'll – **send you pictures of some well-pranked Slytherins!**_

_Ambitiously,_

_Fred **and George**_

Harry snorted in amusement, and then nudged Dudley with his elbow.

"Hey Dud, can you see you Padfoot's face when we tell him Fred'n George are Slytherins?"

Dudley snickered and tugged at the letter, reading it through again.

"You better save this for proof, Harry. I wonder how long it'll take them to get their first detention?"

"I wonder what you _do_ for detention at magic school?"

"Maybe you fight trolls!"

"Nah – Dragons! In an epic battle -"

"Yeah! With a wand of power and an invisibility cloak plus ten!"

For a few – very few – moments, Harry and Dudley gallivanted across the living room, over tired and over excited and quite a bit out of control. Petunia's irritated hiss was enough to remind them of the time.

"Boys! It's almost midnight, and you've got your letter. To bed, now, you can bounce about over it more in the morning. Vernon needs his sleep, he's got work early in the morning even if you two don't have school for another week!"

Muttering under their breath about _aunt _and _mum_, Harry and Dudley began to make their way up the stairs – and then the lights went out. The ever present hum of electricity flowing through the wires of the house faded completely, and in the silence Harry and Dudley heard the creak of their feet on their stairs and their own heartbeats as equally loud noises.

There came white light, and a sound like a thunderclap, and then red light, glaring bloody bright crimson and highlighting the whole living room. The boys fled together up the last few stairs and Petunia followed them.

White light – red light – white light – _green_ light -

Harry screamed, a high noise of pure terror, and clung to Petunia's side. Dudley reacted to Harry's response to the brilliant, sickly emerald light and shrieked too. At the noise, Vernon lumbered out into the hallway, his hair sticking up wildly and only one slipper on.

His mouth opened to ask what the trouble was, but his eyes took in the glowing, shifting shades of light visible outside the house, and then he closed it again without a word.

The green light became white once more, and then gold, a cage of brilliance whose bars expanded, slowly merging with one another until a great shield and dome of light encompassed the entirety of the house and its property.

There was a sound like the ringing of a gong, but high and sweet and clear. Harry heard a voice in it – _my sweet boy, my darling_, it said. Petunia stood with an arm around each boy and two streams of tears flowing down her face, and did not know why. Perhaps it was the brightness of the lights.

On the sidewalk, on the border between the green lawn of Privet Drive and the rest of the world, a snake lay smoking, its skin charred to embers that melted away into only sparks, and dust, and ash.

Dudley, peeking out the window, saw a shape like a wavering ghost of a man rise coiled like a serpent and then rush away on a gust of wind. It happened in the blink of the eye, in the space between one moment and the next.

Ten seconds later Albus Dumbledore arrived in the living room of number four with a sharp _crack_, and shouted anxiously into the house, his wand already drawn.

"Harry and Dursleys! Where are you – are you safe?"

He heard a scrambling near the top of the stairs, and looked up. In the glow of gold light streaming through the windows at the end of the second floor hallway, he saw the Dursley family crouched together with Harry, and let out a long, relived sigh.

When the attempt to breach the wards had been made known to him by the instruments he used to monitor them, he had feared the worst, for the detectors had identified the one doing the breaching as _prime threat_, the first enemy: Voldemort himself.

_But the wards held. They held, thank Merlin._

"Petunia, Vernon, I must go outside and find the one who attempted to breach the wards."

"The wards – that's what that light is?"

Petunia's voice quavered.

"Yes, though I was not aware that such a phenomenon would accompany their activation."

Albus lifted a small porcelain cat from the mantle and pressed the tip of his wand to it. Together, the four residents of number four crept down the stairs and crowded close to the Headmaster and his promise of protection.

"_Portus_."

The cat figurine glowed blue for a moment, and then it appeared that nothing had changed, but Albus placed the figure in Petunia's trembling hands and then stepped toward the door.

"That is a portkey, set to take you to my office at Hogwarts. If you here a single sound of battle, say the word _sanctuary_ and it will whisk you away to safety. You need only make sure that each of you is touching the figurine; a finger will do. Now, please wait here."

Petunia held the boys still against her body, staring out toward the front of the house through the space between the curtains over the living room windows. Vernon stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder, wishing her had a rifle or a pistol to defend his family with – something, anything – the boys would do better than he would, at least they were magic -

There were no noises from outside; a minute passed, and then five, and then the Headmaster returned through the front door and retrieved the cat figurine from Petunia, dispelling the _portus_ charm as he replaced it on the mantle.

"Whatever attacked the wards, it appears to have disintegrated entirely, or fled, or both. There are complex spells that might reveal more, but they will take time that I am hesitant to spend at this moment, when the danger might not have disappeared completely."

Petunia spoke quietly, her voice steady now but drained of all its usual force.

"What do you suggest, Headmaster? Is there anywhere the boys can be safe? I don't...I don't..."

Her voice trailed off; Vernon's hand squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, sympathetically, but he could say nothing to make her feel any better. Albus contemplated the situation for a moment.

"I believe...your best option may be to send the boys to Sirius tonight, instead of tomorrow. While the two of you undoubtedly have commitments that you cannot avoid, the children can be safe in a location unknown to anyone who might harm them. I am more firmly convinced now than ever that the wards over this property are uniquely powerful, however there is no harm to be done by checking them to be certain, as well as those other spells I mentioned earlier. I would recommend you, sir, continue to go to work as usual."

Vernon nodded slowly.

"And you, Petunia, should participate in anything you had planned for the weekend; if the neighbors inquire about the boys, I'm sure you can think of a suitable excuse, but under no circumstances let it be known that the two of them are not here. If there is to be a repeat attack, I expect it will be both soon and stronger."

With the calm efficiency of a man who is accustomed to emergency, Albus began casting spells at the Dursley's fireplace, one after another. The electricity in the house was still out, overpowered by the strength of active magic over the property, and the Headmaster was able to levitate the electric fireplace the Dursley's used out of the actual hearth without any problem.

Three words, two _flicks_, and one _swish_ later, a pile of conjured logs were burning well beneath a comfortably warm flame. Albus reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a small bag that drew open in his hand to reveal a sparkling powder, more shimmering than glitter – like captured sparks. He tossed a pinch into the fire, and when it turned green he got slowly to his knees before turning to the Dursley's with a word of warning.

"The boys already know this, I'm sure, but floo travel is perfectly safe and the fire won't burn me. Don't be alarmed."

And then he stuck his head into the fire.

Despite the Headmaster's words, Vernon couldn't prevent an involuntary jerk in the old man's direction. Wizards were one thing, but his _head_ – his head was in the _fire_. The Dursley's side of the fire was oddly quiet; they could hear only the crackling of the flames and Albus' voice murmuring words made indistinguishable by the noise of the fire. They only caught his last words clearly, and knew by that who he had contacted.

"Very good, Sirius, I'll send the boys through directly."

* * *

><p>That night, while Harry and Dudley calmed themselves with chocolate and gave wild explanations that hardened Sirius' eyes to cold slate, Albus Dumbledore probed the wards that protected the Dursley property more thoroughly than he had done even when they had first established themselves.<p>

What he found both puzzled and dismayed him; he knew, had known since the moment the sharp alarm of the attempted breach interrupted his quiet evening that Voldemort was the cause. What he did not know was _how_ or _why_. He had anticipated the vengeance of various factions among the Death Eaters, let behind by their master and unsure of what direction to send their violence...but after nine years of silence, now that the worst of the offenders had been locked behind Azkaban's dark defense...

_Now, Voldemort himself returns and I can only imagine that he seeks vengeance for the trauma his rebounded spell inflicted. _

Gently, Albus prodded the wards and watched their structure fade from mortal sight and back into the realm of sleeping magics; they were strong, stronger than he had ever expected them to be, certainly stronger than they had been two years ago when he last checked them.

_Perhaps the influence of young Dudley's magic on his parents is stronger than I expected. _

With slow, lassoing movements of his wand, the Headmaster began to cast complex spells, reshaping reality to the forms it had held scant minutes previous. He saw the cool evening that had been interrupted by the screaming of the words, but no visible person had walked down the street for at least an hour.

_Very well, perhaps not a person then._

Again, Albus replayed the previous minutes, but this time he turned his eyes to the ground, and let out a sharp, satisfied sound. A snake – a simple adder, if his eyes were not deceiving him, but obviously possessed by some darker presence, some deeper malice than a carnivore's hunger. The eyes glowed red, and even in the construct of the spell the Headmaster felt the weight of dark magic, its black and seeking tendrils.

The snake did not turn away from the edge of the Dursley property line, according to the impulse of the wards, but instead went straight forward, as if nothing were there to compel the creature otherwise. The first line of defense against a mere snake was always the pest repelling ward, but that appeared to have had no effect at all.

Then came the sound and snapping brilliance of Harry's own unique wards springing into life, cycling through shadow-shades of the colors that had startled the Dursley's. But the Headmaster's eyes were not on the wards – they were on the snake, cast backward from the edge of the Dursley property with the first flicker of glow, smoking, writhing – in a matter of moments it was gone, and nothing had been left behind but dust.

When the construct of the spell had collapsed, and Albus was left alone in the middle of the street, his eyes tracked the course they had taken in the _replay_ and he saw the serpentine shape of ash blowing away in the cool evening breeze.

With his wand, the Headmaster siphoned a bit of this dust into an empty bag transfigured from a nearby leaf. He stared for a moment at what remained of Voldemort's latest foray into the living world, and felt a chill of foreboding. He had thought they would have more time; more time for Harry to grow, more time for him to live and learn – more _time_.

_I thought, at least until Harry goes to Hogwarts...and how did Tom learn of his location so quickly? Harry's address is a matter of record, yes, but not a public one – and I should have been informed, if someone requested access to that information -_

But he shook his head, putting the question aside for later. How Voldemort had come by the information was important, yes, but less so than that he had...and that he had come here, to the middle of muggle Surrey, seeking to end Harry's life.

_And what would he have done, had the wards not ejected him from the body of the snake? An adder is not poisonous enough to kill a child Harry's age with a single bite...and no matter his powerful magic, without a wand and a hand to hold it, his potency is greatly reduced. _

Nothing he could think of was any help – there were only fears, reinforced in the midnight hour by his lack of information. Seeking to soothe his nerves, and because he didn't believe Sirius would be asleep, the Headmaster _apparated_ to London and then knocked on the door of number twelve.

Sirius jerked open the door with a start, as if he had been waiting – and perhaps he had.

"Headmaster."

His voice was tense; his eyes scanned the street and his wand was in his hand.

"Good evening, Sirius. May I?"

"Ah – of course. Sorry it's -"

And Sirius blew out a long breath as he pulled open the door and stepped back to allow the Headmaster entrance.

"It's just memories, you know? I'd hoped the bad days were over with."

"As had I, my boy. Have Harry and Dudley gone to bed?"

"They're upstairs, but I doubt they're asleep if you want me to -"

"No, no, they've had enough...excitement for one night, I'm sure. Has there been any trouble?"

"Not here. Harry told me that the wards reacted to something – _his_ wards. He said he could feel them, a tug like a spell that never finished casting; is that normal? And then Dudley – he saw a shape, he said, a man made of smoke that blew away in the wind, or fled. What's going on, Dumbledore? Why isn't Harry safe? Why is he _here_, with me, when you said – when you kept telling me that the safest place for him was with his Aunt!"

"That is still the truth, Sirius, though I am disturbed to hear that young Dudley...but no matter, it is to be expected. I had the boys sent to you tonight because tomorrow that house will be swarming with Ministry investigators from the DMLE. The testimony of Petunia and Vernon will be enough for the aurors, but how many of them do you think would give up the chance to talk to Harry Potter, even unnecessarily? No, that's not needed – as it is I will have to return early in the morning to warn Petunia of what to expect...and just when they had begun to grow comfortable with magic, too..."

Albus hesitated for a moment, and then continued.

"But there is one thing particularly that troubles me, which I shall have trouble convincing the Ministry of. The wards responded at their highest level, with their strongest magic. It is a response that I have believed would only occur in the presence of the primary offender against that protection – Voldemort himself."

The Headmaster's features settled into their sternest expression.

"I am afraid that Voldemort has returned, in one shape or another, with intentions most harmful to Harry."

Sirius stared for a long minute, and then stood and crossed to a cabinet by the fire in the parlor where they had come to sit. He withdrew a bottle of Firewhiskey and waggled at the Headmaster, who waved a hand to decline. Sirius poured himself a hefty dose in a cut crystal glass and then gulped it like water. The heat burned through him; he looked vaguely dangerous with smoke curling past his lips.

"Then I guess it's time for us to make some plans. I won't lose Harry; not to anyone, not to anything. If Voldemort wants to hurt him, he'll have to go through me -"

"And me as well, Sirius. I have no intentions of allowing Voldemort to claim another life."

The Headmaster said his goodbyes less effusively than normal, and instructed Sirius to send the boys back to Privet Drive on Monday morning, as had been scheduled.

"Nothing I was able to detect told me anything other than that the wards held, strongly, and Voldemort was dislodged from his current body – an adder that burned away when he lifted away from it. The shadow Dudley saw was probably Voldemort, fleeing, but there is no reason to tell him that."

"Yeah, no reason – they've got enough to worry about as it is."

At the top of the stairs, two pairs of eyes, one blue, one green, blinked in unison and then turned to stare at each other.

In the covering sound of the _crack_ that followed the Headmaster's _apparition_ away from Grim's Playground, Harry and Dudley darted back along the upstairs hallway. In the middle, just outside their respective doors, they stopped, and stared at each other.

"Harry – Harry, Voldrot is the guy who killed – who killed Aunt Lily, isn't he?"

Dudley's whisper was low and fierce.

"Yeah. And my dad, too – he killed them both. He's the one."

"H-Harry, if he was at – if he found h-home – then – then...?"

"I know – but Headmaster Albus is the strongest wizard there ever was, so if he says its safe -"

"Yeah! It must be safe, then!"

"Shh, Dudley! We'll get caught!"

"Ah – sorry, Harry – but what are we going to do?"

"We'll just have to be the strongest wizards ever – like Headmaster Albus -"

"Or even stronger!"

"Yeah – and then we'll kick Voldemort's _ass!"_

Both boys giggled together at the curse word and its implication – the promise of the statement – before they crept quietly into their beds.

When Sirius crept in to check on them ten minutes later, they were sound asleep...or soundly pretending.

* * *

><p>In the morning the excitement and drama of the previous night had only faded slightly, but Sirius was determined to make sure that neither Harry nor Dudley dwelt overly much on the events that had sent them scurrying through the floo at midnight.<p>

Maddy was ready with coffee for Sirius and waffles and sausage and bacon and eggs and toast and potatoes and juice for the boys, who had both awoken ravenously hungry and ordered "a breakfast feast" that neither Sirius nor Maddy was interested in denying them.

Sirius' thoughts were bound up with tragedy, and his features were drawn and tight with sleeplessness and worry. It was only the fact that Harry was there, laughing at the table in front of him, that kept Sirius from being drawn into dark thoughts – and recognizing that, he wondered whose _safety_ Dumbledore had brought the boys here for, anyway.

He decided not to ask. Some questions were better left unanswered, and the Headmaster was omnipotent seemed enough already without ascribing ulterior motives to actions that had a good enough explanation already.

It was Harry who broke the deepening silence of Sirius' end of the breakfast table by waving around the letter he had received the previous evening before chaos broke out.

"Hey Padfoot, 'member those twins who're my pen pals – the ones we went to the zoo with in Diagon Alley?"

Sirius nodded over his coffee and swallowed swiftly.

"Mm...yeah – Molly Weasley's kids."

"Yeah. They started Hogwarts yesterday!"

"Ah, another pair of Weasley Gryffindor twins, huh? McGonagall's going to love that, I'm sure, she had Fabian and -"

But Harry was shaking his head, and Dudley was snickering.

"Uh-uh. She won't have to worry – they got sorted into Slytherin."

Sirius choked on his coffee, and then was forced to speak over the sound of Maddy pounding his back as he coughed.

"_Slytherin_? _Weasleys _in _Slytherin_?"

Pleased at the reaction he had gotten, Harry grinned and nodded.

"Yup. They said their mum's going to go nuts, but only half 'cause one of their brothers is in Ravenclaw."

Sirius raised an eyebrow at that.

"As long as they don't go taking lessons from Death Eater spawn – still far too many of those running about, if you ask me. Then again, pranksters generally have trouble with _actual _evil."

He grinned for a moment, trying to lighten the mood.

"I should know."

Harry laughed – it was the same thing the twins had said in their letter.

"Oh - Fred'n George want to borrow one of my potions books, Padfoot – d'you mind if I send it to them with Loot? Aunt Petunia still won't let me _or_ Dudley get an owl."

Harry scowled, but Sirius just shook his head and nodded.

"Sure, pup. Just call for Maddy when your letter's done, and she can bring it up to him. Loot's been a bit spastic lately, but she can handle him."

And Sirius sighed.

"Somehow the damn birds I end up with are always just a little bit...off. Dunno _how_ I do it – your dad used to make fun of me for it, Harry. Had an owl first year that my dear mother bought for me. Agora, thing was called – idiotic bird would only fly _inside_. And then at Christmas hols next year, the one I got to replace him, Akros, wouldn't take off by himself. Had to throw him out a window, and even then he'd only fly two feet from the ground. The Ministry confiscated him, since he couldn't stay out of the way of muggles. Then, _third_ year, I bought Ailuros...and he attacked McGonagall in the Great Hall _six_ times. So he got confiscated too. Finally in fourth year I got Loot when one of your granddad's owls laid three eggs...and _he's_ been with me every since. Once every couple years he gets a little loopy, but he's never lost a letter yet...and that ridiculous bird actually flew all the way out to Azkaban and lived on the island the whole two years I was there."

Harry looked impressed, but Sirius shifted the topic quickly. Those two years of his life were years that he would rather not remember, if he had a choice.

"So, what do you two want to do today? I'm afraid with school starting yesterday there's not much in the way of entertainment -"

"Can we learn some more spells, Padfoot? We brought our wands and everything!"

"Yeah, some spells!"

Sirius looked at the two of them steadily for a moment, and then set his coffee cup down with a decisive click.

"All right, but the two of you have to promise that you will _never_ tell anyone what I'm going to teach you – or try to, anyway. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded immediately, and Dudley followed within half a second.

"Good. Finish your breakfasts, and then meet me in the dun – basement. The door will be unlocked, Harry, you know the one."

Harry's eyes grew wide as Sirius left the table, for he did indeed know the door in question.

Dudley was still concerned with waffles and bacon, but Harry sipped at his juice distractedly and then finally pulled his cousin away from the table bodily and down the short hall that led past the stairs. They stopped in front of a door that looked like it belonged in an ancient castle, and not in the warm, comfortable place Grim's Playground had become with Sirius living there.

Harry reached forward with one hand and pushed; the door opened slowly, silently, and revealed a dim stair going down into darkness beneath a flickering pair of torches.

"What's down _there_, Harry?"

They took the first step down together, and another pair of torches sprang to life over their heads, casting huge, wavering shadows down the stairs in front of them.

"It's the _dungeons_. Padfoot calls it the basement now, but his family had dark wizards in it before him, mostly, and they kept nasty stuff down here. I've never been allowed down here before, not even once."

"It's _creepy_. Are there ghosts, do you think?"

"_Maybe_. But if there were, I think we'd have seen 'em in the rest of the house."

"Unless it was a cursed ghost -"

"Yeah! An ancestor of the House of Black, cursed for all eternity!"

"Who's been cursed for all eternity?"

"AHH!"

"YAAH!"

Harry and Dudley jumped simultaneously as a hand clapped down onto each of their shoulders – but the laughter gave away their _ghost_ almost immediately.

"Padfoot!"

"Come on, you two. There's no ghosts down here – just _this_. _Luminum, camera, actio!"_

Sirius snapped his wand in a direction that appeared empty to the boys, but in a moment lights flashed on, bright and reflecting – dark curtains were yanked away upward into nothingness - the floor appeared to lift from the ground, a large section perhaps twenty meters on a side, square and shining with both the clarity of glass and the sheen of metal.

"Wow -"

"Wicked! Padfoot, is that a _dueling_ platform?"

Sirius grinned.

"Sure is. Now, Harry, Dudley, both of you step forward and stand at the southern end – yes, just there. The southern end of a dueling platform is the Challenger's Side, no matter which side south happens to be. If you've been challenged to a duel, then you stand on the north side – that's the Defender's Side. Got it?"

"South if you challenge, north if you defend. But, Sirius -"

"Hang on, pup, questions in a minute. Now, the dueling platform is warded so that spells cast within its boundaries can't escape. It doesn't matter how powerful the spells are, doesn't matter who casts them, or how many, or for how long – no dueling platform has ever had its wards fail, and its a good thing, too, because in competitive duels and honor duels, anything goes...and I mean _anything_.

"The two of you are too young to learn powerful offensive magic, or impressive shields – your magic isn't focused enough, hasn't matured enough. What you need to know is that it isn't always powerful spells that do the most damage. Sometimes, the best defense is a good offense – and sometimes the best offense is a simple spell.

"So, wands ready?"

Harry and Dudley both nodded, and held their wands tightly in their right hands.

"All right, now, the spell I'm going to teach you is a charm used for painting houses. It's called – very cleverly – the paint charm, and the incantation is _pingere_. Say it with me, both of you. _Pingere! _Dudley, more accent on the _ping_ – Harry you need three syllables, not two. Ping-er-eh. Got it? Try it again, now – _pingere! _Good – good. Alright, so – the wand movement is just a jab, and then a wave where you want the paint to go. But I don't want you two to worry about painting the walls - I want you to jab and aim at _me. _Preferably at my face. Ready?"

Sirius stared at the two boys, who stared back. Harry had participated in equally strange undertakings before, but Dudley was completely taken aback at being told to shoot Sirius in the face with a paint spell.

"What if I – what if I do it wrong?"

"Then nothing will come out of your wand. Besides, the paint won't _hurt _me, that's not the point – now, are you ready?"

"All – all right. I'll try."

"I'm ready, Padfoot!"

Sirius grinned at Harry, and then positioned himself ten feet away from the two boys.

"Ready – set – fire!"

"_Pingere!"_

"_Pingere!_"

"_Pingeerie – _oops_ – Pingere!"_

"_Pingere!_"

It took only five minutes for Harry to consistently begin catching Sirius in the face with the splash of randomly colored paint that erupted from his wand; Dudley managed the spell successfully first, but then continued to be sporadic with his success until Sirius corrected his grip on his wand.

"All right, now one more thing; I'm going to walk back and forth, and you two are going to do the same thing and try to hit me, got it? Remember, aim for my fa -"

And then he spat out a mouthful of paint and raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"Blech. Jumped the gun a bit there, didn't you?"

Harry only grinned.

* * *

><p>AN: Well, I feel better now having not taken a bazillion years to post this one. Don't you? I'm in the mood for some consumer input, as it were, and I wonder – do you, oh readers, wish more of Harry's time before Hogwarts, or shall I speed it up some? It won't be a large amount of chapters in either case...but I could make it one or two, or I could make it three or four...possibly five. What say you? And of course,

Please Review!


	13. Chapter 12: Objects in Motion

_**- Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams -**_

**Chapter 12**

_**Objects In Motion**_

* * *

><p><em>The world you know now hides a truer world beneath. Unless you hold reins of shadowy power, nothing will reveal that world to you – but if you find it, you will see things strange and magical, mysterious and horrifying, deeds great and deeds terrible, and you will forever be changed. You will become one of the Sundered – and may whatever Gods you worship then have mercy on your soul.<em>

_ - From the Declaration of Intention, sent to all muggle governments as a prelude to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy _

* * *

><p>Over the next several months, Harry and Dudley experienced a great many changes in their lives, changes related to the danger that had reared its head from the wizarding world, but not begun by it. At the instigation of Petunia, who backed first into old prejudices and then away from them into a sharp, almost military precision, neither of them attended public school that fall. Instead, beginning when their school semester would have begun, a tutor came to the house four days a week. She was a friend of Albus Dumbledore's named Arabella Figg who lived nearby in Surrey.<p>

Dudley had been fascinated by the idea of _squib_ when Arabella had introduced herself as one, relaxing the boys about their magic and how secret they must keep it. Here was someone who was the opposite of a muggleborn wizard, a woman who should have been a witch, but wasn't. She knew many things about the wizarding world, but she had never been to Hogwarts; fifty years before, when she was eleven, she had received no letter as she had known she wouldn't, and had gone instead to a muggle secondary school near London.

Mrs. Figg had worked for many years as a primary school teacher, and though she had been retired for some time she was quite pleased for both the opportunity to have contact with the world she had, for the most part, left behind, and for the chance to educate such a promising pair of boys. She was elderly but strong, sharp-eyed, intelligent, and kindly to anything that breathed, especially children and cats. Albus Dumbledore's trust in her was absolute; Petunia knew her for an upstanding member of the local community, and Vernon couldn't argue with his wife. For the Dursleys, this was an opportunity to make future deceptions more believable. It would be far easier for the neighbors and their children to think that the two boys receiving special tutoring were going to a _gifted_ school.

Mrs. Figg focused on subjects that would be helpful to the boys as they made the transition from the muggle to the magical world – arithmetic, English and grammar, handwriting, basic chemistry, and history. They learned also some things _about_ the magical world – because, as Mrs. Figg said, "No muggleborn wizard or halfblood raised by a muggle ever knows enough about what they're getting into – wouldn't be right of me not to correct that, now, would it?"

She could not teach them magic, but she did open a door – a door of knowledge about races and species and prejudices and laws, about ancient history and recent history and the war that had cost Harry his parents. There was no defining thread, unless it was just magic, just learning; yet both Harry and Dudley felt that they had never enjoyed a class more.

Through the hallways of the Dursley home, across the kitchen while the boys studied in the living room, the stories that Mrs. Figg was telling echoed to two other pairs of curious ears. Vernon and Petunia were listening, were learning, were picking up deeper motives and adult overtones and sharper edges of which Harry and Dudley caught only bits.

For the first time, Vernon gained an understanding of the terror that had brought Harry to be laid on their doorstep. For the second time, Petunia felt her heart thawing, warming, opening to this world to which she had once before made application and been denied entrance. She would never learn a spell, but she had parted some curtain, opened some window onto a world that glittered with promise despite her own failing.

Petunia's home had grown _witchy_, almost without effort; she had pans that would wash themselves once she put them in the sink, sheets that unfolded on their own, a broom that swept at a word from one of the boys, and a mop that did the same. There were cabinets and closets that were never opened unless a certain kind of company was over; there was, as yet, no owl in the attic – but both boys were begging, and she knew that sooner or later Vernon would give in if she didn't. She surprised even herself on the day she realized she didn't really care – but really, the fireplace floo was still far more convenient...and _cleaner_.

On the weekends, and on the day of the week that the boys did not have tutoring, one or both usually spent several hours at Grim's Playground. Sirius would not keep them inside, though – there were people to meet and things to learn, places to go and things to see and experience. The Headmaster complained at first, but Sirius insisted that the boys' trips into the wizarding world be allowed to continue.

"If we keep them prisoner at home then Voldemort has already won everything that matters! We're not fighting just to survive – we're fighting to **live**."

"And if they come to harm out in the world?"

"I'll die first -"

"And so will I! But -"

"Headmaster, anything that can get through you is going to be trouble regardless of the wards."

The Headmaster was silent for a long moment, and Sirius knew the argument was won. He had learned to be graceful in victory, though, and made an offer that was a concession to the Headmaster's concerns.

"A week from Saturday the Chinese embassy is holding an exhibition of _Xiyangjing_ and traditional Chinese dance. I'm sure I can get you an extra ticket -"

"Your consideration is appreciated, Sirius, but I was already planning on attending on my own. A display of Shadow Magic is not to be missed – nor is the dancing, I've heard."

Harry and Dudley, eavesdropping from the doorway, grinned at each other, glad that their _confinement _would not be permanent. They had enjoyed being freed from school, and Mrs. Figg was amazing – but both had begun feeling stir crazy when they weren't even allowed in the backyard alone. Petunia was too worried that something might happen to them – the boys had turned their fear toward learning how to protect themselves, but Petunia still woke up with nightmares and went to stand at the door, staring outside, barring the threshold with her body and shivering even in her warmest flannel robe.

For Harry and Dudley, learning to defend themselves was a priority – Sirius and the Headmaster had both agreed on that, at least. Their first lesson with _P__ingere_ had determined the course of their study of simple spells and House Magic – for each simple bit of spellcasting, they learned an alternate use. The painting charm was to blind an enemy, to keep them from targeting you with their spells; next, they learned the veil charm, a simple shield meant to keep fumes from potions or chemicals from affecting a household; the boys learned it to prevent foes from getting at them with area effect spells. Neither Harry nor Dudley could manage to get more than a spark out of the disarming spell yet, but both could cast a solid Trip jinx, and Harry was a master of the Jelly Legs jinx.

For the boys, it was a new type of fun as well as good training, but during those hours in the basement of Grim's Playground Sirius became deadly serious – without humor, without the usual sparkle in his eye. There was a cold light in him then; it burned with a pale flame that grew to a thundering blaze on the few occasions he demonstrated _real _dueling spells.

Harry and Dudley watched in awe that very next Saturday following the _incident_, because the Chinese Embassy's display would go on far into the night, and Sirius didn't want them to exhaust themselves. With casual ease, silent and sometimes even wandless, Sirius blasted his way across the challenges set up on the dueling platform – dummies that sent spells at him, a trap that blasted projectiles his way – a four by four foot "room" in which the only weapon available was transfiguration or brute force; Sirius excelled at both.

Leashes of fire, gouts of water that froze on contact with anything solid, blasts of wind sharp enough to cut like blades – stunning spells, blinding flashes of light, spells that shredded, ripped, burned, shattered, and broke –

The dummies disintegrated, and Harry and Dudley whooped and clapped and clambered up onto the dueling platform.

"That was wicked, Padfoot!"

"Yeah, awesome! Are you going to teach us those spells?"

Sirius laughed a little, and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"When you're older; something to aim for, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

* * *

><p>That night, both boys experienced an excursion that gave them something <em>else<em> to aim for, for the magic they witnessed, the power and skill displayed by the mage artists of the Chinese embassy, were truly astounding.

Harry and Dudley sat on either side of Sirius, and Harry found himself sitting next to the Headmaster on the other side – he was not really that surprised, having overheard that Albus would be present, but he was still pleased to see the older man. The observation stands of the Ministry of Magic's Exhibition Hall were completely full, and an excited whisper careened around the edges of the room, full of rumors and expectations.

But not one of them came close to what they witnessed.

There were no announcers; there was no calling of names, no warning that the display was about to begin. Instead, one moment there was a susurration of robes and voices, and the next there was silence as every observer held his breath and leaned forward.

On the floor of the Exhibition Hall, there was a movement; a motion; a flicker; it was a dance, a marriage of light and darkness. A single person in a featureless black robed flicked into existence, as if a light switch were attached to his state of being. In his hands, power grew and swelled, expanding and shaping itself into a visible lattice of darkness. It was not magic but anti-magic, a force difficult to train and more difficult still to wield with any kind of confidence or safety.

Across the Hall from the robed figure, a second appeared – and then there was a furious blaze of magic, a brilliance so bright that it took five full minutes for Harry to see past the shimmer of glow and shadow to the two people exchanging bolts of spell fire like whispered glass. He could not hear the words of the incantations, if there were any; even now that he could see the pair of individuals down on the floor, he couldn't tell if they were male or female or even human -

And then two became four, and then eight, and then twenty-four. In spinning patterns of light and magic, figures whirled to life as the first had and then began to fling energy back and forth, creating shapes and shimmering landscapes with the furious speed of their working. Nets of shadow blossomed in strange shapes and unearthly forms, only to react violently and then collapse as they came in contact with _living_ magic, bright red bolts, jagged blue spheres, wild yellow darts of light.

Each movement, each bit of energy flung across the Hall by those nets of shadowy power seemed random and careless, as if at any moment the glimmer of beautiful light in its intricate patterns might shift and shatter and splash out of control -

But it never did. Pinwheels and the shapes of strange beasts took shape; a landscape of shimmering mountains beyond a wide, brown desert – a river – a forest – the night sky with its billion stars – the world, clouded, blue hung gorgeous and serene in the endless black -

And then as if a door was shut, only the darkness, growing, growing, a web of shadow like those the _artists_ had used to shape and fling their spells, but greater – enormously greater. The mesh of shadow wavered and then held to a vaguely spherical shape before the outside edges of the enormous, woven mass began to turn down all together, like the blossoming of a great, dark flower.

For the first time, a crisp voice spoke out over the subdued murmur of the crowd, masculine with an edge of Hong Kong accent.

"Now we will tell you a story of your own land; now we bring to you the landscapes of the past. Consider, as Lu Liuxing sings for the you _The Tale of Three Brothers, _the work of the Lu Yun, the Shadowmaster."

From within the darkness, following on the announcers words without warning or pause, came a clear, high wail of words. To most of those in the audience they were well known, a tale of childhood here given clarity and intensity and great beauty.

_In days of old_

_Of which stories told_

_Seem more like myth_

_Than the lives of men bold_

_There were three great tools_

_Three treasures bright_

_That passed from Death's hands_

_To men strong in life._

Harry and Dudley sat forward on the edges of their seats; the Headmaster and Sirius and many within the audience did the same, but the boys didn't notice; their eyes were fixed on the expanding bubble of shadow-story before them on the floor of the hall.

A single man stood tall and quiet, only his fingers and hands moving, fluid at the wrist, strong and purposeful and elegant as a conductor. He was directing a silent orchestra of shadows; they moved to follow the lines of the story being sung in clear, high tones from somewhere behind or beyond him.

In the blossom of shadow three men appeared, three brothers; their faces featureless, the differences between them only superficial, each still had a different profile; one tall, one of medium height, one short - one long haired, one well combed, one cowlicked...one slender, one stolid, one plump. Dudley snickered, but not as much as Harry; both had noticed the similarity between the slender, smallest shadow-brother's untamed hair and Harry's own.

The tall figure of death grew out of the blossoming web of shadows, tall and skeletal, faceless as were the brothers, but deeper in mystery and fuller in shape and portent. Death wore robes of stunning black, obsidian even in shadow, darker than any other particle of shade. To each of the brothers it held out a gift, one at a time, and as each item was passed its verse was sung.

First to the eldest, the stolid, tallest brother with the long hair, the thin fingers of Death's shadow held forth a wand that flickered even in the shadow-play with a pale, gleaming fire. It promised power just by its appearance, by the shivering of its presence; and the eldest brother took it, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick, the Destroy of Nations, the Disharmony -

And the floating high notes of the song explained.

_A wand there was, _

_So shining pale_

_Pluck'd elder twig_

_And death's hard scale _

_The first and best, _

_So say the tale_

_Of Death's three gifts_

_From past the veil._

The next brother stepped forward, of medium height and plump about the middle; he held up his hands in supplication, reaching toward Death; he bent forward and melded into the shadowy ground beneath him, begging; for a life, or a death overturned. What he received was not enough to soothe him; nothing could be, and in his begging figure there is acknowledgment of that and still a fire that will not admit defeat. _Resurrection –_ that is the whisper in the song.

_Second a stone_

_Brought glimmer to bone_

_A glimmer of life_

_Where no life should roam;_

_A stone that stole peace _

_From heart and from home_

_A stone that made gladness_

_Into dark moans._

The last brother was more clever than his elder brothers, or more innocent – or more pure, more cunning, more _something_ upon which no telling of the story could agree. The third brother, youngest, shortest, slender and bed-headed, prowled his way forward toward Death. He stood proud and tempered before the eye of such a powerful and dangerous being; he looked Death in the face, and the watching audience could imagine his gleaming smile.

And he – he asked with wisdom for a gift that would not bite at his soul. He asked for a simple garment; and even faceless, Death's shadow seemed to scowl.

_Third there was a cloak_

_To dim all watching sight_

_A way to fade away;_

_An escape from mortal's might_

_A magic that could breathe_

_Inhale shadow, exhale light_

_And hide a single heartbeat_

_From Death's long night._

From his own trailing robes Death cut the fabric of a sublime and mysterious Cloak; it passed into the hands of the youngest brother, who wrapped it around himself and disappeared into the shadowy background. A suggestion of sun and passing moon wove through the shadow sky, time passing until from out of the background,

_Of these brothers word does come_

_From years ahead, when doom had won._

_But to the youngest, none can say_

_What came; he disappeared that day_

_But some do tell of legends passed_

_Down to a line which carries that wrap_

_A cloak of power, one part of three_

_The heirloom of an ancient family._

The second brother appeared, the same as he had last been shown. In his hands was the stone he had been given, and as he turned it three times in his hands, behold! Before him a wavering silhouette, a lovely woman – but her mouth was opened in a terrible scream, and the second brother could only drop the stone and let her free to the death she craved to return to. Nothing could restore her to what she had been; she blew away in the wind. The second brother wandered for a time, striding amongst paler shadows.

One day, thin and careworn, grieving and broken, he fell onto his sword.

_The middle brother gained pain_

_As his only reward;_

_The price of the stone _

_Was his blood on his sword._

_For who could be summoned_

_Without pain from blissful isles?_

_A mother who died _

_In death would not leave her child._

The watching boys were still and silent now, their eyes _fixed_ on the lesson – for Harry knew as if by instinct that this meant all dreams of childhood must be set aside; that those once lost are lost forever if they have died – there here was permanence beyond all earthly hopes. Dudley knew only a shadow of that truth; he had claimed a special hatred for Voldemort, who had taken away_ his _Aunt at the same time as he had taken away Harry's mother. Dudley had taken to heart the words of those who had told him that his mother's blood, his _aunt's_ blood, was the reason why he had magic -

Magic, that had become more precious to him than anything but his family, who were a magic all their own despite being _muggles_.

When the first brother appeared, the Eldest brother, they knew that nothing good was going to happen. They had never seen such a dramatic presentation of it, or heard such a lovely version of it sung, but the story was known to both boys; Harry had heard it even from his parents, in the year before they had been taken from him forever.

Standing tall and proud in the midst of a crowd, waving his new gift around, that flickering starfire of a wand, the eldest brother made a fool of many duelists and fighters; the wand he bore could not be beaten, in fair fight or in dirty. It made a mockery of years of training or the skill of the fighters the brother stood against; it reflected spells or absorbed them, made tickling charms into curses that could send muscles into a deadly spasm.

Loudly, and with much fuss, the legend of the brother and his wand began to spread – until in the dark of night, while the brother slept, his head on his pillow and his wand beneath that, a thief crept through the darkness, and slit his throat.

The red blood spilled black in the shadow-images, as the dark hand of the thief crept beneath the pillow and emerged wielding the glimmering, pale wand.

_Power beyond measure; _

_Power beyond price_

_Power beyond pleasure_

_Power beyond life._

_These the brother asked for_

_And these he did receive -_

_But Death knows human nature_

_And that Power attracts a thief._

For a few more moments, the story in the shadows followed the wand as its pale gleam shifted from hand to hand, accompanied always by the flow of blood as it moved from brother to thief, thief to stranger, stranger to son...

Then the last verse rose clear and lovely over the blossom of darkness that had displayed the shadowplay as it closed.

_But who were these,_

_These brothers three?_

_We know not now, if ever we_

_Did know; for ever danger greets_

_The one who seeks_

_Their treasured powers_

_And finds him woe..._

_And his last hours._

For a moment silence hung in the air; a woman in elegant robes stepped forward from a dark nowhere and bowed beside the Shadowmaster.

Then applause broke across the air like a great wave, each individual audience member apparently trying to out do the others with how vigorously they could apply. Harry and Dudley stood on their seats and clapped until their hands were sore; grinning, Sirius did the same. Only the Headmaster applauded slowly, intently; if any had been watching him, they would have seen a pair of tears slide down his seamed cheeks and lose themselves in his beard.

When the audience had been seated, and were quiet once more, the Shadowmaster stepped forward a second time and bowed to the audience. A wizard in the black, gold-embroidered robes of a Chinese Auror stepped forward from the opposite end of the exhibition hall, and bowed as well, then turned and bowed to the Shadowmaster, who returned the gesture.

Then began a display of skill far less flashy than the exorbitant, flowering exhibition of shadows that had been shown earlier – and still, it was much more impressive...and seemed _far_ more dangerous to many of those watching.

For the Shadowmaster stood firm, and faced the attacks of a wizard as well trained as any of those watching had ever seen...

And the magic had no effect.

The shadows that formed and swarmed around the Shadowmaster ate or deflected the spells that the Auror cast at him; most disappeared into patches of darkness, never to be seen again – many were _bent_, moving from one place to another in an unnatural pattern that followed the shadows cast by the pillars in the hall, the seated audience, the standing fighter, and the Shadowmaster himself.

The Auror was skilled, and despite that fact that his opponent was a master of anti-magic, a Shadowmaster, he put up a good fight. The Shadowmaster was kept on the move, his feet moving in quick, boxed steps, his fingers flowing in the elegant interpretations of his art. The delicate movements that had produced the filaments of shadow that obeyed him in the _play_ of storytelling were deadly, sweeping gestures of finger and form that created shadows to obey his will, sometimes in midair.

Sirius had his eye on the Auror; he was aware of the art of the Shadowmaster, of the deadly potential of one who could _eat_ spells at will, redirect and reshape them to suit his own purposes...but such a one was rare, and only a half dozen were known to the world. Others hid themselves and their knowledge; this was known, a truth that had existed as long as the Art itself – but it did not matter. Those who wore the colors of a Shadowmaster in the open were more than enough to maintain an ancient reputation well earned.

The Auror had skills that Sirius could identify and perhaps mimic; some of the flashing spell lights bore colors and feelings that were familiar to him, though he heard no incantation he could understand. Still, bone-crushing curses, whips of fire, the green darts of poisonous lances and sharp sapphire bolts of magical energy were all identifiable – and all of them were consumed by the wavering play of shadows that bowed to the will of the Shadowmaster.

But it was not vicious spells that finally begin to shift the mock battle in the favor of the Auror; instead, it was _light_. For, anti-magic or not, eater of spells or not, all the power of the Shadowmaster was shadow, and no shadow lives directly in the glare of the light. By changing the angle of a few floating balls of illumination, a wizardborn child's nightlight-spell became deadly aid for the Auror.

The sharp lights of spells began to impact on the floor of the exhibition hall as the Shadowmaster lost the ability to determine where the shadows would be, or as the individual shadows were eliminated from his sphere of control. Soon the Auror had the lights moving at high speed; their color and the density of the light was variable, and each instant the pattern of flickering shadow in the room changed and shifted, moving out of the Shadowmaster's control.

After several minutes of this, in which tense shapes of shadow grew and failed to coalesce, in which the shadows failed to tear and swallow the jets of dangerous light, the Shadowmaster stepped to one side of a bright yellow spell and dropped to one knee, bowing to the Auror.

"I yield – let it end now between us."

Immediately, obeying a duelist's protocol, the Auror stepped back and bowed in return, though he remained standing.

"You have yielded; it is indeed ended."

There was a wave of applause again then, more restrained than the first time but also longer lasting. The Shadowmaster took his bow and vanished; the Chinese Auror took several, and then retreated as the lights in the exhibition hall came up and the applause faded and became the murmurs of people standing and gathering cloaks and hats and bags, discussing the wonders of the performance they had just witnessed and wondering why such events were not announced more often. Sirius held Harry and Dudley back in their seats, and the Headmaster, too, lingered. Looking about, the boys saw several other people also staying seated as the majority of the spectators left the hall and swarmed out through the expanded doors into the shining Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic.

A blonde man and a miniature version of himself that sat quietly beside him, kicking his feet at the bottom of his seat until they were stilled by a polished black cane; a woman with one eye, and the other covered in a glimmering silver patch who had her hand on the shoulder of a redheaded girl; two _very_ old women, chattering quietly behind their hands, and in the company of an older woman, whose hat bore a conspicuous vulture, a boy that both Harry and Dudley knew.

"Hey – Neville! Neville!"

Harry stood on his chair despite Sirius' restraining hand, and waved across the hall at Neville until the other boy noticed him; it did not take long. Tentatively, Neville waved back, and then tugged at the hand of his grandmother until she conceded to follow him across to where Harry's party remained seated even while the flow of exiting audience members thinned.

"Madam Longbottom, how nice to see you out of Green Grove, and with young Neville, too; it has been far too long."

Albus was the first one to greet Neville and his grandmother, but his polite attentions were soon superseded by Harry and Dudley's more _boisterous_ greeting.

"Neville! Hi! Did you see the Shadowmaster -"

"Did you see the _Auror_? And the story about the three brothers?"

"And did you see -"

"Did you see -"

Sirius reached down in the middle of two matching sentences and wrapped a hand around each boy's mouth.

"How d'ya expect him to answer if you won't stop talking? Sorry; hello Madam Longbottom, Neville."

Neville was grinning, pleased to have received such an ebullient welcome; his grandmother bore her usual stern expression, but with something of a twinkle in her eye. Since the day she had brought Neville to Diagon Alley in search of a wand, she had found herself stepping out more and more into the world that for so long had seemed only threatening.

It was for Neville's sake, as she reminded herself constantly; to help him come out of his shell, to allow him to become the great wizard she knew he could be -

Her eye fell gratefully on Harry, whose offer of friendship, tossed over his shoulder that day, appeared to have made so much difference.

She turned her gaze to Sirius Black, of whom she approved, and nodded in acceptance of his casual hello.

"So good to see you, Headmaster; Mr. Black – and of course your charges. I am pleased to meet you again, Mr. Potter, and your cousin -"

She turned her gaze on Dudley, who made a short bow over her hand, as his mother had taught him.

"Evans, Madam, Dudley Evans."

"Evans – of course, of course. And what did you think of the exhibition, Mr. Evans?"

Dudley wavered for a moment, and then smiled broadly.

"It was really great, especially the story part – I liked the song and the moving shadows, I've only ever read that story before."

She smiled and nodded and then turned her attention to Sirius and the Headmaster; Dudley sensed his dismissal and stepped back to talk to Harry and Neville.

They were deep in discussion of the story they had heard, and Dudley joined them happily.

"And Neville – did you see that the short one had Harry's hair?"

Neville nodded, but he waved his hand at the three of them.

"But didn't you see? It was – it wasn't just Harry's hair, it was us! The three brothers, they looked just like us! And Ollivander -"

His voice became very low, and Dudley and Harry both leaned close.

"Ollivander – didn't he say our wands had once belonged to three brothers?"

Green and blue eyes went wide in comprehension even as Neville finished speaking.

"What if – what if _our_ wands were _their_ wands? Three brothers – _the_ three brothers."

As one, identical grins spread across their three faces.

* * *

><p>AN: Kept at this doggedly despite deletions and doom cause of a couple really excellent reviews, so thanks to all who stop to hit the pretty button, and here be another chapter for ye, mateys xD Already into the next one, so hopefully it'll be up a bit quicker; if chicken inspires me enough, perhaps tomorrow cause I'm getting to some fun parts and a few more time skips.


	14. Chapter 13: Objects At Rest

_**- Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams -**_

**Chapter 13**

_**Objects At Rest**_

* * *

><p><em>For a little time, a short while that echoed like the breath before the shout, there seemed to be a hope riding in the public consciousness that the two sides of the ancient conflict might, at last, be coming together. Children have that power; so does love – but nothing is ever accomplished without pain, and it became clear all too soon to those directly involved that some pains – some fears – make manifest a danger that may sleep, but never grow less or vanish...<em>

_~From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast_

* * *

><p>Harry, Dudley, and Neville were not the only ones to note the resemblance between themselves and the shadow-brothers; Albus Dumbledore, with his attention half on Harry and half on the conversation with Sirius and Madam Longbottom, was struck by the similarity as the three boys stood beside each other. Slender and shortest and wild haired, young Harry; plump and well-combed and of medium height, his cousin – and tallest, long haired, stolid – Neville.<p>

It was not his intention to ask the Shadowmaster any questions; he knew such men to be silent, to keep their own counsel – he could not blame them. He was the same way. Still...he wondered, for the likenesses were too exact to be a coincidence.

Below them on the floor of the exhibition hall, the Shadowmaster and the singer, the Auror and the announcer had all gathered with the Chinese Ministry of Magic's ambassador and several of the mage artists.

"Boys, shall we go down and meet those who have so skillfully entertained us?"

Harry, Dudley and Neville broke off their whispered conversation and turned to the Headmaster; Harry spoke for all three of them.

"Yes, please, Headmaster Albus. Is that why we stayed?"

"Most certainly; come, let's make our way down."

The adults stayed together, and the boys walked behind them. Madam Longbottom moved rather slowly, and the Headmaster as well – though both Harry and Dudley had seen him act considerably more spry when the occasion demanded it – so by the time they reached the entrance to the floor of the hall, several of those who had waited to meet the Chinese embassy were already leaving.

Sirius and the Headmaster both nodded at the woman with the glimmering eye patch; Madam Longbottom hung back for a moment to speak with her, and gestured at Neville to go on ahead with his friends when he turned, face falling, to stop at her side. He looked up at her with wide eyes, because he did not remember any other time in his life when she had allowed him to go forward without her.

After a moment, he shook his head a little and took advantage of whatever sense of safety had possessed her to run after Harry and Dudley.

Sirius was deep in discussion with the Chinese Auror about several of the spells he had displayed, using the benefits of a basic translation spell to the fullest and receiving surprising answers to several of his questions. Already, he was planning his next _lesson _for Harry and Dudley, and he would be sure to point out how it had been a simple, easy spell that had allowed the Auror victory over the Shadowmaster.

Harry, Dudley, and Neville were waiting near the entrance of the hall, clustered together and watching the Headmaster as he bowed to the Shadowmaster and began talking with him in Chinese; in front of them, the blonde man and his son stood conversing with the two elderly women and the singer who had accompanied the Shadowmaster.

Neville's eyes were fixed intently on the blonde man; Harry tugged at his arm – he wanted to talk more about the three brothers, and about the special wands that had been put away for them at home. He toyed with the grip of his usual wand, tucked in his sleeve in its holster where it belonged.

"Hey, Neville?"

He poked Neville twice more before the other boy responded.

"Huh? Oh – sorry, Harry."

Dudley came up on his other side and stared at the pair of blondes, wondering what could be so interesting.

"Do you know that kid, Neville?"

"No – well, I know who he _is_...but...you mean neither of you knows that man?"

Harry and Dudley's blank gazes told him that they didn't.

"That's – that's _Lucius Malfoy_. And his son; Drago, I think his name is."

Dudley snickered; Harry turned his gaze back to the blonde man.

"So who is he, Neville?"

"He's – my gran says he's – that he was -"

And he lowered his voice even quieter than it had been when he had spoken of the three brother's wands.

"A _Death Eater_."

And even in Dudley, that was enough to engender horror; they had heard stories of what Voldemort's group of _merry men_ had inflicted on the wizarding populace of Britain.

_Fire -_

_Torture - _

_Pain -_

_Death_ -

And now Harry knew why Neville bore that fixed gaze, that burning stare; Neville, who lived with his grandmother because his parents' minds had been destroyed by terrible spells. Sirius had told him, one of many stories that Harry had heard through the years. Lives destroyed, children killed, parents taken from their families...they weren't stories Sirius would have told him, young as he was, except that there were no others to tell. Harry's godfather was part of a lonely generation, a generation emptied of its heroes; its brothers; its friends -

Friends like Harry's parents, and Neville's too.

"Neville was he – _was he one of the ones -_"

Neville gave a sharp, negative jerk of his head, but that was enough.

Dudley stood respectfully, silent in the face of this new awareness. He had _known _sacrifices that both his friend's – no, his _brother's_ parents had been forced to make.

Harry's green eyes still stared darkly across the room, burning into the back of Lucius Malfoy's head. For a nine year old, he had an impressive glare – there was power in his eyes, a flicker of magic that could daunt those not prepared to encounter it; it was partly the color, the blazing spellgreen he had inherited from his mother, and partly his own presence. Neville, too, stared, his brown eyes focused, absorbing for the first time in person the figure of a _Death Eater_, a nightmare brought to life.

He almost could not believe it was true; the man seemed too...too _clean_, too _elegant_, too..._perfect_. And yet that was in itself a kind of dirt, a fault, an imperfection – no man was so sleek in word and action, so smooth of smile and step. He had the grace of the hunting lion, and yet something at the edge of his presence _stank_ like a carrion eater's breath.

Perhaps it was the intensity of Neville's stare that attracted Lucius' attention; perhaps it was just that the conversation he was involved in was ending, so that he happened to turn and meet the eyes of the boys who were standing by the exit.

Whatever the case, a fateful encounter was precipitated years before it might have been by the glow of fury in Harry's face and the unusual focus in Neville's eyes. Lucius Malfoy had no intention of causing _trouble_ in such a setting as this; though neither man had acknowledged the other the crackling awareness of Albus Dumbledore's presence was turgid in his veins, an awareness deeper than mere magic, and more threatening.

The children, though, the boys – one unfamiliar, one the heir of Longbottom, one whose face was known by its fame...they were _opportunity_, set one beside the other, and opportunity was a thing that Lucius Malfoy was always quick to claim.

With smooth, swift steps, he approached them; his son followed in his wake like the foam on a crest of a wave, pale and always with the semblance of retreating, even as it approaches on the dark surface of the water. When he was close enough to be heard, Lucius turned to his son as if the boy had been the reason for his approach, though even Dudley could see that the child was only an afterthought.

"Well, Draco, you see? There are other boys your age here after all. Shall I introduce you?"

Harry, Dudley, and Neville exchanged glances, hearing this, but the pale boy spoke dutifully and it seemed an introduction was not to be avoided; the DeathEaterwould talk to them.

"Yes, please, father."

All three of them noted that however much the father's presence gave them a tingle of fear, the pale boy with the pale hair seemed like nothing; a wisp, a puffed up doll in fine robes. He wore an arrogant smile, a look of superiority that was in obvious imitation of his father, but bore none of the bite of the elder Malfoy's expression.

Neville thought that if the father hid the savagery of a lion behind a rabbit's smile, the boy was a lamb in a lion's disguise.

"Boys – or should I say Heir Longbottom, and Lord Potter? Ah, but that would not be polite, as I do not know your companion..."

Dudley eyed the man suspiciously, but he knew from all the movies and games he had ever seen that when meeting the villain without the strength to defeat him, it was best to be..._polite. _He insisted on something then that was not _precisely_ true, but which set him on better footing to deal with someone so preoccupied with status.

"I'm the Evans heir, Dudley Evans."

He liked the sound of that; he liked the _feel _of it. Everyone kept telling him that in the magical world, he was an Evans – _an_ Evans, not the first, but...the Heir.

_After all, Neville is an heir..._

The muggle world had no such thing; he had learned in school about the disbanding of the nobility, the decrease of titled Houses and families – he liked the sound of it; like he would be a lord one day too.

"Ah...Evans...Evans..."

And Lucius squinted briefly at Dudley, because the boy did not have the inadequate posture of a muggleborn or the uncertain stance of a halfblood. Yet he did not know any House named Evans; in fact there was only one Evans he remembered, a witch -

_Lily Evans. The muggleborn mother of...the Boy Who Lived. Muggleborn, she was...but...this boy...a cousin to power?_

His gaze flickered back to the face of Harry Potter, confronting defiance there, and fury, and fear well hidden...but not well enough. From the Longbottom boy he received no impression, no emotion – a deep well was there, but dark to him – there was only the expression of external focus, the giveaway that the boy had devoted all his attention to Lucius' presence.

"Well, it is good to make your acquaintance, Heir Evans; I came to introduce my son. He is your age I believe – Draco, come forward."

Obediently, the pale boy, now identified as Draco, not _Drago_, stepped forward and bowed very shortly to the three boys he did not know. His eyes focused in at once on Harry's face, roaming until they caught the bottom end of the famous scar peeking from beneath disordered fringe. Then he stared, until he was forced to blink and his father jostled him into speaking.

"Hello, very good to meet you. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy -"

Draco's words were all very precise and well enunciated; even Neville's attention shifted to him when he spoke, the words sounded so..._off_. They were not the words of a nine year old boy looking to make friends, they were just...words. Empty.

The three boys exchanged glances, wise enough to hear the father even if the words had come out of the mouth of the son.

"Hello, then -"

Dudley spoke first, and then halted. The sense of danger was acute, all of it bound together in the presence of the looming elder Malfoy, and it strangled his attempt at _normal_ conversation. Even Harry, who was usually the first to do what he pleased, regardless of fear, was subdued by the dominating aura Lucius projected. Despite having said that his intentions were for his son to meet them – they had overheard as much – Lucius Malfoy seemed far more interested in monopolizing their time himself.

"Well, boys, have you had an opportunity yet to speak to the Shadowmaster? No? Make sure you do, it is not often one gets such an opportunity...have any of you been out of the country? _No_? Oh, that's really too bad – I take Draco to France regularly, just so he can experience something of wizarding life on the continent, you know...and of course after tonight I certainly think a trip to Asia might be in order..."

Neville and Dudley nodded their heads dumbly. As if sensing that his two companions were not going to be of help, Harry squared his shoulders and squinted not at the Elder Malfoy, but at his son.

"D'ya like France then, Draco? I could ask Sirius to take us, if it's fun - we _might_'ve been to Ireland once, but...I don't think we're really _allowed _to leave Britain so I can't ask, yeah?"

He grinned, hoping that friendliness might be enough to dispel some of Draco's _paleness_, but he was only faintly rewarded.

"Father...father says that France is where culture comes from. It's – it's nice, I guess, even if I'm not allowed to -."

"Now, Draco, you know Malfoys don't _guess_. France is lovely."

"Yes, father."

And Draco turned to Harry, almost mechanically.

"You see? France is lovely."

Harry's face changed, almost inscrutably, but the anger was dimming from his expression and being replaced with something close to pity.

"Me'n Dud'n Neville were talking about the story – the three brothers, you know, that the Shadowmaster put on -"

For the first time, a semblance of eagerness changed the put-on placid expression on Draco's face.

"Yeah – that was wicked!"

A flush changed the unnatural, static paleness of his face; his eyes, animated, were more blue and less gray.

"The singing was okay, I gue – I _suppose_. But the way the shadows moved – I thought the beginning part was pretty good, you know, the flowers and shapes and all that. The story though – that was excellent!"

Harry was too surprised at having got a response to say anything, but Neville and Dudley were more than willing to pick up what he had begun. The natural, boisterous nature of children was enough to override even Lucius Malfoy, who could not enact sinister intentions or even think too loudly of them in this place, in this _company_ -

For Albus Dumbledore was always there, out of the corner of his eye, and Sirius Black was not known to be _gentle_ with his response to a threat.

There had been those rumors of a werewolf attack at Hogwarts – Black's fault, it was said. And the death of Pettigrew – that was known.

_He brought the body back in pieces, they said. Just the head, and bits no larger than his little finger – just enough to identify him. _

No...Lucius Malfoy, accomplished wizard that he was, would tempt neither the Headmaster nor Sirius Black.

Instead, he stood back, and approved the conversation his son was having on his behalf – for surely, if Draco was amenable enough, the boys would consent to a visit? There were entertainments and objects to be found nowhere else in Britain available at Malfoy Manor...and children could be much better at getting what they wanted than adults; one of the _advantages_ of innocence.

_Even if it means hosting Albus Dumbledore for tea, there are things...many things to be gained by the appropriate liaisons these days. _

Contemplating all this, Lucius stepped back and pasted a benevolent expression on his face, waiting for one of the boy's guardians to notice who was watching over them.

It did not take long.

The four boys had barely gotten started on a heated debate of which treasure was the best – Dudley and Draco wanted the Wand, while Harry thought the Cloak would be best, especially for mischief. Neville was hesitant to declare himself, but said that the Cloak would probably be excellent, but he thought the Stone might be the most valuable.

He did not have time to get into his reasons why, for at the moment Draco began to phrase the question, Sirius finally extricated himself from conversation with the Chinese Auror and moved purposefully in their direction. He hovered protectively behind Harry, but lay a hand on Dudley's shoulder as well, and turned an eye in Neville's direction.

"You three all right?"

"Yeah, we're fine, Padfoot."

Dudley nodded, and Neville waved a hand in Draco's direction.

"We just met Draco; his dad's over there. They came to watch the Shadowmaster, too."

"That's – nice."

Sirius' smile had grown very strained the moment Neville drew his attention directly to Lucius; the smile on Lucius' face was fixed, in turn. Before the downfall of Voldemort the two men had drawn wands and fought each other many times from opposing sides of the battlefield – one always masked, the other brazenly showing his face even as he fought against his own blood. Once, Sirius had been held captive in Malfoy Manor – but he had not seen Lucius then, through the chaos and the trauma and the masses of hooded figures.

This was the first time they had ever stood within such close proximity of each other, face to face and no battle calling them to violence.

The call remained, regardless; they both heard it, conflicting natures going to war in the silence that was anything but still. To _show_ it, however – both knew better than that.

"Malfoy; enjoy the show?"

Lucius barely inclined his head to Sirius' flippant greeting.

"Black; of course. Such skill in storytelling? Exquisite, and one so rarely has a chance to meet a Shadowmaster -"

"And you had never seen one before? I mean, sure it's pretty – but it's just a lot of playing around with the dark, in the end."

"Oh, playing around – that's not quite fair, don't you think _cousin_?"

The familiar term of address was too much. As Sirius' expression crossed the border from polite to purgatory, Albus strode up beside him as if his appearance had been choreographed, a perfect interruption.

"Sirius, I see you've found our wayward trio – and what's this, a fourth? Ah, Lucius! I see, is this one yours?"

The smile on Lucius' face gained an entirely new level of strain; he was outnumbered _and_ overpowered in his current company, and his instincts of self preservation were telling him that it was time to beat a swift retreat, and hope that the children's conversation had had some _influence -_

_But that is fear talking; they will do nothing, __**here**_. _No more than I will._

"Yes...yes, this is my son, Draco. Draco, this is Albus Dumbledore -"

But for the first time, Draco was apparently willing to overstep the boundaries of his father's influence over his behavior.

"Albus – Albus Dumbledore? But _you're_ on a chocolate frog card – father, he's on a chocolate frog card!"

The other three boys were grinning; Harry and Dudley were quite familiar with both the Headmaster and his chocolate frog card – though Dumbledore was a Special Rare in the Alchemist's Collection, each of them had a signed copy.

"Yes, Draco, I'm aware -"

And then, as if he had expected such a reaction when really it had been the last thing on his mind, Lucius patted Draco's shoulder and forced his smile to widen.

"Would you like to invite your new friends for an afternoon, Draco?"

Draco peered at his father with astonishment that was obvious to all the watching parties.

"To – to the manor, father?"

His wonder was not an act; he had rarely had a visitor, and never without at least a month of planning in advance, warnings about what he could or could not say -

And he saw that Harry and Neville shared a shiver of unease at his father's smile, which was directed at each of them in turn.

"Of course, Draco, where else?"

But Sirius was quick to defuse the situation; he had no desire to let Harry _or_ Dudley get within ten miles of Malfoy Manor – not if he could help it.

"Sorry, Malfoy, no can do – at least not any time soon. There are certain precautions that have to be followed; for Harry's safety, you understand. There are always elements ready to prey on the unwary, but they won't have a thing to do with my Harry if I can help it -"

The _and I can_ he so wanted to stay was left unspoken.

Sirius' fingers squeezed a little tighter on Harry's shoulder. Harry was unaware of any _precautions_ taken for his safety, beyond the fact that he had to live with Aunt Petunia – but he remembered what Neville had said, and realized that Sirius was just making excuses – that Sirius was on the edge of rage – that his fingers were trembling with _fear -_

Neville's words had shocked Harry, but the_ real danger _that was behind the shock of the words Death Eater_ – _Sirius' fear taught him that in one moment.

_This man fought my parents – fought for the man that killed them – this man is bad, this man is –_ _**evil**_**.**

For the first time Harry quantified the darkness that had been chasing him since he was born, applied the truth to what he saw in the face of a living being. He stared the lure of darkness right in its blue eyes and found it utterly without attraction. Suddenly the smile on Lucius' face seemed false, something put on for show.

The son, though – the boy who seemed to really want to be friends...

_Draco's a normal kid – or he would be, if his dad would let him alone for a while. I bet he doesn't have any friends -_

And in that moment, Harry came to a decision that would influence many lives, his own not the least.

"Sirius – hey, Sirius, if we can't go visit Draco, d'ya think he could come visit _us_? And Neville too – we never have any friends over, any more, Aunt Petunia's all funny now since the -"

"Yes, Harry, I know – she's overprotective, a bit, but that's to be expected...and she might be right. I'm not sure it's a good idea for your home to become public knowledge; the wrong information in the wrong hands could be very dangerous."

It was Dumbledore who came to the rescue of Harry's half-thought-out spur of the moment plan; as if he was aware what it was that Harry was trying to do, who he was trying to save -

"Now, Sirius – didn't you tell me earlier that you wanted to be sure that Harry and Dudley had a chance to lead normal lives? Surely we can accommodate their request; after all, we can't lock them away from the world and its dangers forever..."

Something flashed between Sirius and the Headmaster then, in the moments before Madame Longbottom approached from behind them, her face full of worry at the sight of Lucius. It was not quite magic, but more than just an exchange of looks; they spoke mind to mind, sharp words flashing like knives between them.

_Harry is not to be sacrificed -_

_Harry is making his own decisions._

_Harry is only a child -_

_Harry is wiser than you know. He can save this boy -_

_A Malfoy!_

_A Malfoy; a child. Or do you forget what it was like for you; to be a Black? _

Sirius turned away, his thoughts closed, his eyes clenched shut for one moment in which the age of terror and all its memories flashed sharply across his thoughts.

"Perhaps you are right after all, Harry – after all, you're all just...kids. Why don't you send Draco an owl sometime, and we can make plans?"

Lucius' smile became less strained; he even went so far as to shake the Headmaster's hand, though he made no move to reach for Sirius'. Draco was smiling – was the boy lonely? Perhaps it was time to call up a few of the old crowd, and bring their children together...

He had no idea that that was the last thing Draco wanted; that the boy had already been taught what it mean to have those kind of companions – that he wanted nothing to do with the particular way of doing things that seemed to be _the way_ in a pure-blood household. He wanted his father's approval; oh yes. He wanted to be loved, to be seen as someone special, to have the respect and admiration of the man who seemed to live a cold, closed circle -

He was loyal, because of that desire. But at the same time, there were other things he did not want at all. Like the crup he had asked for the year before as a birthday present – and which he had turned away from almost as soon as it had been given to him, because there was too cruel a smile in his father's face when he warned Draco not to get too attached.

That had meant danger for the puppy, and danger for Draco too – and when a week later the crup had not come when it was called, he had only shrugged and demanded that his father buy him a new, better broom instead.

No matter that a broom could not cuddle him, lick his cheek at night -

No matter that there was only the empty silence of the manor grounds to fly in, all alone.

His father nodded only vaguely at Augusta Longbottom as he passed her; Draco's hurried his footsteps behind his father, wiping his thoughts clean. The sound of his father's cane tapping against the polished parquet floor accompanied him out of the hall, and Draco's eyes turned back toward Harry and the two boys beside him, faintly jealous and only half knowing why.

He was a Malfoy, after all, and Malfoys made others jealous; they did not envy themselves.

_Or if they did, they took what they desired for their own_.

His father had taught him that and Draco considered, in his childish way, how he could figure out what it was they had he wanted, and then how he could take it for himself.

Behind the pair of departing Malfoys, the room relaxed.

Neville returned to himself, freed of the thought of _Death Eater_ that had begun to run on repeat in his consciousness. Dudley watched Draco leaving, wishing for a cloak that would _swish_ like the other boy's, the near-deadliness of the encounter passing almost entirely over his head. He was aware that there was danger in Mr. Malfoy, but it was beyond him to understand what that danger really meant. He had not been involved in the early, heart to heart talks that had explained the pain of the past to Harry; he knew only what he had learned since, mostly through the other boy, and his fear was as halfhearted as his knowledge.

Only Harry remained thoughtful, his eyes passing from Sirius to the Headmaster and back, turning to take in Lucius' retreating back, returning again to hear Madame Longbottom explaining her worry to the Headmaster, who had taken it upon himself to arrange visits between the boys who were building a new and stronger friendship.

"It's not that I don't trust you, of course – but really. Albus, Lucius _Malfoy_?"

"Lucius doesn't interest me, Madame; he is dangerous only in someone else's hands. He has too much to lose; even if Voldemort were to approach him in person tomorrow, I don't think it would make much difference. But young Draco – I would much rather see him turn out like another young man I once knew than his father."

The Headmaster's eyes were on Sirius as he spoke, but he made no more open reference; the shards of their silent communication still stood sharp between them. Madame Longbottom pursed her lips, and then nodded sharply, once.

"Very well – I can't see as it will do Neville any harm to spend time with other boys his age, but I must insist that he not be brought near that – that _man's _manor."

Sirius smiled grimly and spoke for the first time.

"There'll be no trouble with that, Madame; Harry isn't going near Lucius either."

And that, it seemed, was that.

* * *

><p>For the next several weeks, owls flew back and forth between Sirius and Albus, Albus and Madame Longbottom, Sirius and Madame Longbottom, Petunia and Albus, Petunia and Sirius – and even, much to the surprise of the others, Petunia and Madame Longbottom. Albus was the only one willing to write to Lucius Malfoy, and did so quietly while the others were involved in their own plans; he was going to seize this chance to turn the future heir of House Malfoy away from the darkness, even if the other adults involved were quite sure it was pointless.<p>

Sirius' first flush of comradely feeling for Draco had faded like a caffeine buzz – it left the young Black irritated, jumpy, tired, and with a headache. Harry and Dudley continued their usual routine, changing things only to include an extra day every other week with Sirius, who had insisted on _bumping up their combat training._ Really it was no such thing; regardless of what dangers might be out there, moving closer, ever threatening – both boys had memorized Sirius speech inside of a month – they were still only nine years old, not yet even of Hogwarts age, and though they both had wands and a great deal of intelligence, neither one had sufficiently developed magic for anything but the simplest of spells and House magic.

Still, they were learning good aim and excellent control of their wand movements, as well as agility – and they were having fun, too. But neither had yet realized that the reason they were being trained was because of that single, brief interaction in the hall of the ministry of magic. Even Harry, who thought often about Lucius Malfoy and his son, and on what the darkness meant, and on how it might touch them – even he did not connect the two things together.

If he thought about why the training Sirius insisted on had intensified, it was only to remember that Voldemort himself had already stood outside his house with evil intentions once since his parent's deaths.

_And we don't know where he is now, and we don't know what he's doing, and we don't know who he might be getting to help him, like they did back then -_

And perhaps that was the reason why Harry did not think too much on the type of threat that Lucius Malfoy could be. He and Dudley had already made up their minds to be better than Voldemort; compared to _him_, Malfoy didn't even count as a second best.

A/N: Aha...well...that took me quite a bit longer than I expected, because Lucius Malfoy is a pain who did not want to go away. But he did, finally, and this bit of story is finished. Expect more in two or three weeks, to give a reasonable estimate, because this month is CampNano and I've been working on a new novel. Onward, and of course

Please Review!


	15. Chapter 14: Wheel of Fire

_**- Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams -**_

**Chapter 14**

_**Wheel of Fire**_

* * *

><p><em>Voldemort, The Dark Lord<em>_: The chosen title of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Last known blood descendent of Slytherin, the Lost Founder of Hogwarts; perpetrator of atrocities against sentient beings __not limited to the scope of the entirety of the First and Second Serpent Wars (see entries Serpent War, First and Serpent War, Second for further information). Arch rival of Albus Dumbledore (see entries Dumbledore, Albus, and Hogwarts Headmasters __appendix for further information. Arch rival of Harry Potter (see entry Potter, Harry, and all previously mentioned entries for further information)._

_From __An Encyclopedia For The Muggleborn__, by Regan Gherreimon_

* * *

><p>The fury of the Dark Lord at his second defeat, perhaps more ignominious that the first, spared the world its presence in palpable destruction. This was only because the confrontation he had suffered with the wards that infused Harry Potter's blood – and through that blood, the property at Privet Drive - had suffused his spirit into a vaporous cloud of ill intentions.<p>

For a three months and more he drifted senseless and cold, a malodorous, wavering energy that splayed itself like a viscous, gray-green fog across the horizon for those who had the eyes to see. When finally Voldemort returned to himself, regained consciousness and some control over the scattered energies of his being, he was full of an anger that he had no outlet for. More than a third of the energy he had carefully stored within himself, gathered over a decade of menial striving, was gone. _Vanished. _

The wards had _drained_ it from him, had sucked the power from him and perhaps even some of the life – but he did not like to think about that. He was Voldemort, the most feared Dark Lord in centuries – more feared than Grindelwald, more feared than any since great Slytherin himself...perhaps more even than Slytherin!

_But I can not be the most feared Dark Lord of all time...if I do not regain a body! Immortality in this form...is not the immortality I require. Immortality...in this form...is not enough...is less than nothing...!_

He moved across the British landscape as drifting mist and nauseous shadow; he infringed upon the boundaries of many homes where he sensed magic, and fed upon the wasted tendrils of energy that seeped out into the midnight air. Even the energy he found beside the muggleborn he did not disdain; anything to bring him back to his former power, to give him a chance to once more kill that boy and prove himself forever dominant over Death.

_Forever...powerful...forever...the chosen one._

At first, Azkaban prison beckoned him with the weeping sensation of his own power, bleeding outward from the Mark with which he had claimed his Death Eaters. There was darkness beyond darkness there and many of his old followers were hidden behind the gray stone walls – the most loyal, the most insane, the most vicious...but he could not venture too close. Azkaban was guarded by the Dementors, and the Dementors would not care who he had been, only that the stretched out spirit of his existence was a lovely morsel for an _afternoon snack_.

There was only one other place Voldemort could think of that he would be safe; only one other possibility. It had occurred to him before, but now he considered that the risks which had earlier kept him back were worthwhile. Better the risk than his own dissolution; better the chance of detection than to float formless through the better part of another decade.

_It is...dangerous. The old fool will not...be easy...to avoid...and the one...who might host me...will not be easy...to subdue._

If he had been living he would never have dared to attempt the challenge that was before him. There were too many reasons to stay away, too many things that could go wrong. Now, the only danger to him was the same prolonged weakness that he had suffered, and continued to suffer – not truly a danger, just an inconvenience.

In the end, he did not think it would matter; this was not the immortality he wanted but it would serve, until he could secure something better. And something better might be just around the corner; a powerful beast, a creature with which he had allied himself once before, the willing servant of his bloodline. The serpent of serpents; the king of kings; an abomination...a terror...a sleeping promise of death passed down across a thousand years...a _basilisk_,

Voldemort lifted himself up over the hills that rose before him, and drifted down into a long, dark tangle of woods that was so very familiar; so precious..._almost home_. He sensed lives moving around him; dark intentions, predatory thirsts...hungers...dreams...and conscience, too – and then a purity so bright, so clean it blinded and disgusted him and sent him fleeing forward. He would not be deterred; _almost home_!

The thought tingled within his being, and then – ah, then. A welcoming presence; a feeling he had missed...so long, he had missed it.

_The castle...is waiting for me._

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry loomed tall and glowing with the light of a thousand candles, a beacon calling through the darkness to him. The landscape was wet and murky, but the cold of the early spring did not bother him, and the school's wards did not touch him, did not recognize him as a presence. Less than the merest ghost, a wisp of vapor with only the form that he imposed upon himself with the subtlest manipulations of magic, he followed the draw of the castle's power, its presence, and let his shadow drift through the open doors and through the long halls of Hogwarts.

He floated away from the Great Hall and the noises of school life that he could hear there; away from the presence of powerful magic whose possessor might be too attuned to his presence to let him pass by without notice or confrontation. That he had crossed the wards was mere luck, but Albus Dumbledore was a man of many unknown powers and resources, the student of obscure knowledge...

If any living man could recognize him even in this shape, it would be him, and Voldemort would not tempt fate when success was so close at hand.

Voldemort moved up through the empty spiral that sat at the center of the shifting staircases to the second floor, and then down the corridor to a disused girl's lavatory where a single ghost fluttered back and forth, moaning to herself in the absence of anyone else to share her distress with.

If he could have smirked, he would have; and yet at the same time there was a tug of irritation in the deepest part of his had been the greatest of wizards, and here before him floated his first victim; nameless now, a spirit, a ghost, a memory...but he was less than that.

_I am less than that...now...but never again!_

Voldemort gathered himself in front of one of the old, stone sinks and focused his essence until he was capable of a sound – a sound, not loud enough for human ears but loud enough for the magic that was waiting for just such a susurration, just such a hiss to reveal its secrets.

_Open to the Heir of Slytherin!_

With a grinding and a shuddering that spattered dust down onto the lavatory floor, the wall opened behind the sink and showed a long, dark, curving tunnel; an open pipe, leading down into the bowels of the castle. He flowed into it like mist, and fell down, down, down – far below.

He was already making his way through the large door that led into the main portion of the chamber he sought before a ghostly wail reached him – and Voldemort recognized with a sudden twist of rage that he might have made a mistake, discounting the spirit of the girl in the bathroom. _Myrtle._

_Yet what can she tell the old fool...what...but that there is a place...he already knows of...and yet cannot touch...within his school._

Black amusement strengthened Voldemort's will, and he moved forward through a circular, empty chamber that echoed with the sound of dripping water and the scurrying of rodents. Around him, though all was now dim, he knew what was there – entrances concealed, some opened long ago, when he was at school, some with passwords forgotten a thousand years ago that would never be opened again.

He moved forward in a whorl of smoky vapor and called upon his reserves of power a second time to produce a sound; a password he _had_ discovered, one that had been left behind on purpose just for him.

_Slytherin's...heir. Slytherin's...last...descendent. _

As he had at the top of the long drop to this chamber, Voldemort spoke a hiss of inhuman language toward the statue whose stern figure dominated the room; twelve meters high it stood, an image of Salazar Slytherin as he had looked at the height of his power. Voldemort hovered for a moment before that image, taking strength from it, inspiration, reminding himself of his ancient, lofty purpose, the goals that had been transmitted to him with a bloodline higher and more important than any royalty in the world.

Finally, he gathered his powers a second time and sent his _voice_ forth in a whispered rush of parseltongue, the language that marked his line.

"_The forked tongue speaks twice, once cunning, once wise._"

The password set up a rumble in the depths of the statue. The great figure shook with dust, but not as much as other places in the chamber; half a century's worth, only, and not a millennium of disuse. The great hands parted; robes of stone rippled like living fabric. The statue's mouth opened wide, wider, an impossible, silent scream, until the chin beneath the stone lips rested against the floor and the opening was large enough for at least a half a dozen men to walk comfortably side by side.

Voldemort experienced a first then and relished it; beyond mortal boundaries he certainly was, for he stared directly into the eyes of a basilisk, coiling its great bulk toward him, and felt nothing. The eyes were yellow, enormous, sickly in shade and disturbing in their menace. No human had noticed him; even the screeching ghost he had left above him, running toward the old fool, had not; she had noticed only the opening and closing of the secret entrance to this place.

The basilisk was different. Was it scent, or a sense for dark magic? Whatever it was, the beast's awareness of his presence was a thing of which he, too, was aware. It did not overly concern him. Either way, the basilisk would have become aware of him, sooner rather than later.

_Sooner..._

_Now._

Mist and spirit moved in the beast's next inhalation and flowed into its body – all that Voldemort was, all that remained of his fleshless being, drawn into the basilisk with a single heaving breath. It flailed and writhed, sixty feet of bulk smashing against the walls, the magically reinforced statue, splashing in the damp of a thousand years and scattering dust and mold and fine, glittering scales.

There was power to resist in the basilisk's great reserves of power, in a thousand years of sleeping substance brought suddenly surging to the fore. The serpent was confused; it had sensed an enemy but there was no foe near it – it hissed in fury, spewed venom from its open mouth that bubbled against the stone floor, but all this was as a death reflex for whatever consciousness existed within the beast.

Within the shadowed mind of the basilisk, Voldemort had already taken root. Like an insidious weed, his presence grew and gained dominance.

There was no time for him in the basilisk's serpentine labyrinth of mind, but it was not long even to his subjective awareness before Voldemort had vanquished his foe, squashed mind but not magic, won a wonderful prize for himself – a shape worthy for a dark lord, if only for a while.

Serpent of serpents, king of dark kings, Voldemort coiled the three score feet of his body and bowed before the statue of his great ancestor.

"_Many thanksss, great Ssslytherin – many thanksss!_"

The statue remained cold and immobile.

The chamber was filled with the sibilant laughter of the dark lord, and then with silence. The great bulk of the basilisk coiled itself just within the statues mouth; Lord Voldemort closed his new and deadly eyes. He was tired, after his long battle; tired...it was time to rest.

Time to recoup the strength he had lost attempting to go after the boy.

Time to regain what he had expended on the conquest of his new flesh...

* * *

><p>Only one individual could give warning of Voldemort's incursion into Hogwarts. The ghost, known to all and sundry as Moaning Myrtle, was more qualified than most would have expected, too – she had been killed by Voldemort when he was only a school boy, had been murdered by him in the bathroom she haunted, by a pair of yellow eyes that had appeared where today she had seen a pit open into darkness, obeying the sound of an invisible voice.<p>

It was not her usual way to roam the castle, but that was her preference and the tug of emotion that kept her near the magical imprint of the trauma of her own death. Tonight, having convinced herself twice it was necessary and wiped away as many ghostly tears as she could, Myrtle made her way from the second floor girl's bathroom and up to the headmaster's office.

Albus Dumbledore was not expecting her, but then it was difficult to expect a ghost, after all. She hovered before him in the drab, shimmering length of her old-style Hogwarts robes, and he felt a pang of guilt as he always did when he saw her. He knew who it was that had killed her, though the question of how had never been answered; he had spent long hours in the decades since her death wondering if there had been a way to stop it – to prevent _Voldemort_ from becoming more than just a boy's dark-hearted fancy, more than a daydreamed doodle, the anagram of a boring day.

Hindsight, of course; the inevitable _if's_. He did his best to hold back a sigh, and then turned to his _guest_.

Despite the unexpectedness of her appearance, Dumbledore made every appearance of being a host who has received a visitor long awaited.

"Why, Miss Myrtle, isn't it? What is it you need so late at night, my dear?"

He refrained from offering her a lemon drop; it would be rude.

"Hello H-Headmaster..."

She sniffled ominously and Dumbledore prepared himself for an outburst, but Myrtle restrained herself and only moaned faintly, piteously, and floated back and forth across the office.

"Headmaster, something terrible has happened. I was just sitting in my stall, drifting and contemplating death..."

Her voice drifted, then her eyes zeroed in on him from behind the thick, ghostly gleam of her spectacles.

"I heard a voice, hissing – just like the last time. When I died."

She said it proudly, and then continued in a lower voice.

"I don't know what kind of voice it was; it wasn't loud enough to hear – _hic_ - just a whisper. But the sink sank back, and the wall opened up – I screamed, and then hid in my u-bend, but whatever it was had gone by the time I came out again, and the wall was the same – _hic_ – as ever."

Dumbledore straightened with slow, precise motions. His back grew stiff against his chair; his fingers reached into his sleeve instinctively and grasped his wand, stroked the smooth, pale ridges of its wood.

"This...happened tonight, Myrtle?"

He took great pains to keep his voice calm; she was a flighty spirit, and he needed to know what she knew – if only legilimency worked on the dead!

"This afternoon, Headmaster, or maybe it was – _hic – _evening. I – I was scared so it -"

"It took you a while; I understand. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Myrtle shook her head, and wrung her hands, and then let out a wail and sped away from the Headmaster through the wood of his office's closed door. When she was gone, a steel entered the eyes of Albus Dumbledore that many would have found startling.

He considered his options for only a moment, and then summoned those he knew he could trust. A whispered word and a flick of his wand sent a glow into the air; it formed into the wide-winged, glimmering shape of a great phoenix. The bird was only a construct of magic, yet it looked at him with intelligent eyes, and he spoke his message for it to carry.

"Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout, Severus Snape, please come to the Headmaster's office immediately."

He considered for a moment, and then walked over to the fireplace and tossed in a pinch of sparkling powder.

* * *

><p>The Headmaster was involved in a <em>very<em> late night discussion with the four individuals he had summoned, the heads of Hogwarts' ancient houses and one Sirius Black. Their talk lasted through the night, until Sirius had to leave to go tend his charges and the professor's to tend their morning duties, and it was with red eyes and a throbbing head that the Headmaster made his way down to the infirmary to seek the aid of Madam Pomfrey. On another day, he might have slept, but today important things required his attention, and that wasn't an option.

The school healer was sitting in her office, but she took one look at the headmaster as he sidled through her door and opened the bottom left drawer of her desk.

"Pepper-up potion, I suppose, though for the life of me why the five most needed professors in this school thought it wise to stay up all night like _school children,_ I'm sure I don't know."

"Ah, so I see our erstwhile heads of house have paid you a visit this morning as well – I hope you weren't too harsh with them, I was the one who summoned them last night."

"So I was informed. Well here; take the potion, and do _try_ to get some sleep tonight, headmaster! You're not as young as you used to be!"

Dumbledore upturned the vial of potion and swallowed quickly; steam blasted out of his ears, his eyes, his nose, and his mouth – and then he hiccuped and rolled his shoulders and smiled brightly, much changed from how he had entered.

"Ah, excellent effect as always, madam. I'll try not to avail myself of your services any time soon. Will I see you at dinner?"

"Of course, headmaster; you're leaving the castle for the day?"

"Yes, I'll be with young Harry today; it seems he's of a mind to befriend Lucius Malfoy's young son...but that's not something that can be allowed to happen without supervision."

Madam Pomfrey looked at him with a suspicious gaze, and then shrugged and stood, shooing him before her out of her office.

"Well, you'd best get on with it then, hadn't you?"

Albus grinned and bowed in her direction, then left the infirmary and made his way down to the front gates. Along the way he attempted to unstick one lemon drop from another and get one out of the bag he kept in his pocket. Effective potion, pepper-up, but what a terrible taste!

He considered the conclusions and questions that the night's talk had turned up; far more of the latter than the former, unfortunately, but despite the aggravation of Sirius in particular, Dumbledore was inclined to think that what they had learned was an excellent thing.

Only Voldemort could open the Chamber of Secrets, and he was aware that it was that near-mythical chamber Myrtle had seen a passage to. He had deciphered as much almost fifty years before, when the poor girl had been killed, but not even now, when he was considered by many to be them most powerful and knowledgeable wizard in the world, could he break the wards that protected the secret of the Chamber and its entrance.

_And perhaps that is not surprising; I have no reason to believe they were not set by Salazar Slytherin himself, as the legend suggests, and the fact that Tom, a parselmouth, is the only one who can open...the fact that he is Slytherin's direct descendent...also highly suggestive..._

Suggestion was, however, no help to him, and without the ability to access the Chamber all he could do was wait for Voldemort to act.

"But you've made a mistake, Tom; we know where you are, now...and we'll be watching for you."

Beneath the school a monstrous snake rustled in uncertain dreams.

Dumbledore pushed open the Hogwarts Gate and stood still for a moment beyond them; then he vanished, and reappeared in London with a wrenching _crack_.

* * *

><p>Sirius Black had not slept when he returned from Hogwarts and his <em>unsettling<em> meeting with Albus Dumbledore and the Heads of House. Before either of the boys who were visiting him were awake, he had drunk not only a pepper-up potion but a whole pot of coffee to wash away the taste, and instead of eating breakfast had chosen to jitter back and forth across the downstairs.

_Voldemort, in Hogwarts. The Chamber of Secrets – a real place – inaccessible even to the Headmaster...Voldemort. In Hogwarts -_

He had never been gladder than at that moment that Harry was not yet in school – but there wasn't much time before he would be, and it seemed the Headmaster had neither a plan to dislodge Voldemort nor any intentions to form one. In a few months, it would be Harry's tenth birthday - and in only one more year after that...

_Watch and wait, Dumbledore says. _

Sirius was not so easily satisfied, but topped with the concerns he still held over today's _visit_; it was a cold, dreary morning in early March, and the sky was dripping at him as if in disdain of his predicament. It had taken them weeks to decide on a date, and months to agree on activities – for while all the parents had agreed that the boy's day out would include two activities, one wizarding, one muggle, each muggle activity that was suggested was declined by Lucius Malfoy as being _inappropriate for his heir_.

Dumbledore had stepped in finally, because the truth of the matter was that Lucius was unlikely to approve _any_ activity that included contact between Draco and muggles, even if such was left explicitly _un_stated. A cousin of a cousin who was a squib worked in a muggle planetarium; would Lucius consent to the boys viewing a planetarium show? It would have to be after usual hours of course, but the boys would still enjoy a private display...

Agreement had been swift after that, and the boys were pleased enough at the prospect of a laser light show not be disappointed that the amusement park and the cinema were no longer options. Considering the weather, Sirius was glad they had decided for something indoors – but he was no longer happy in the _least_ that the Malfoy scion had been included.

When Harry came downstairs at seven o'clock, considerably more awake than anyone had a right to be at the hour, he stood watching Sirius pace for a while before he went over to the couch beneath the front windows and plopped down.

"Are you still worried about Draco, Padfoot?"

Sirius whipped around and then slumped and came over to sit beside Harry.

"You could say that. Don't worry, I'm not going to call off your day out or anything – Merlin knows Dumbledore'd have something to say about it if I tried, anyway."

"Sirius, Draco's not a bad kid -"

"I know, Harry. I know, he's just a kid, right? Except that I was raised by parents like his parents, to be something like what he's trying to be. I know what my parents wanted me to be when I was nine years old, and my brother too – it worked on him."

"But not on you, Sirius."

"Harry – Harry it's not the same. I was the odd one out; I was the heir, and as long as I made a good show of it, I was left alone – and to be honest with you, Harry, I wasn't the nicest kid. Uh...for a long time. I did some..."

Sirius paused, and winced, and then shrugged.

"I did some not-very-nice things when I was younger, even though I was never anything like...like the kind of people who became Death Eaters. It was your father who saved me, Harry – your father, and your grandparents_. _When I was at the edge of going mad, when I would've died or gone dark, your grandfather took me into his house. He chose me to sit beside his son – me, the son of a Slytherin house, Black in name and blacker in ancestry – groomed me alongside your father, the noble heir of a most noble house – trained me to be a good and honorable man, as much as he could, as well as he knew how -"

Sirius had to stop, had to press his hands against his eyes, and Harry stared wide-eyed at his usually light-hearted godfather. They had talked of serious things before, but never with a depth like this; was it because he was older, Harry wondered, or because Sirius was more worried?

"You think Draco is like me, and maybe that's true, but I haven't seen anything that tells me he wants more than to be just like his father. He doesn't have anyone like your grandparents or your parents, Harry – he doesn't even have a brother to show him what it means to really be on the dark path he wants to take."

"Your parents – they changed me, they made me want to be better people, made it so that I would have sooner betrayed myself than them; I was their secret keeper, you know that – and I kept the secret; even when I was captured."

"You were captured, Padfoot?"

Harry thought Sirius was changing the subject, but he wasn't – not really.

"Yes, I was – and your parents broke into Voldemort's secondary base, where I was captive – I still don't know how they found out where I was. I was held at Malfoy Manor, Harry, while Voldemort tried to torture the truth out of me. That's why I'll never trust Lucius...and why until I see strong evidence otherwise, I'm not going to let my guard down even with Draco."

Another moment of silence passed between them. How could Harry argue with that? Except...maybe, he thought. Maybe. If he could be for Malfoy what his father had been for Padfoot...Harry kicked his feet against the couch.

_My father..._

"You...Padfoot, you said my parents broke in and saved you?"

Sirius leaned back against the couch and nodded.

"Yeah, they sure did. Your dad carried me out of my cell his back, with Lily in front of him, and her eyes blazing like a spell, and her wand spitting light, catching Death Eaters right and left – outside, past the madness, _he _was waiting."

Harry spoke the name solemnly – not a question. There was only one _he_, after all.

"Voldemort."

"Yes. Your parents -"

Sirius paused, almost chuckled, swallowed back tears instead and shook his head.

"I barely believe it now, thinking about it. Lily fought off _him_ almost by herself, because your father had his hands full with me. Never seen a witch or wizard duel like that before, she was a woman possessed – until we reached the edge of the anti-apparition wards, and we could get away.

Harry stared at Sirius with shining eyes; his parents had been _heroes_.

"It wasn't until later that we found out your mother had been pregnant at the time; the fact that she was, that there was more magic than just her own inside her – it probably saved all our lives. A pregnant witch has twice as much magic as anyone except the most powerful of wizards. Really, _you_ saved all our lives, Harry."

Harry grinned

"Anyway, that was part of why when she told us she was pregnant – and when Prongs – when your dad asked me if I would be your godfather, of course, I said yes. Of course; you would be like my own son, I promised him that. And Lily cried, and later your dad said that was probably the only reason she agreed."

Harry snickered, and then kicked his feet against the bottom of the couch.

"So...do I have a god_mother_ too, Padfoot?"

Sirius rubbed at his head with one hand and didn't quite meet Harry's eyes.

"Well...uh...kinda."

"_Kinda_?"

"Your mum didn't have any many close female friends that survived long after we left Hogwarts. Alice Longbottom was her first choice – your friend Neville's mother – but she was pregnant at the same time as your mother, and the two of you were born so close together, and in such a dangerous time, that they didn't dare meet for the naming ceremony. So...your mother left the choice of your godmother to me, cause...your godmother is my wife."

Harry's eyes opened wide, and Sirius continued quickly.

"If I get married – _if_. Then my wife becomes your godmother – you see? I think she wanted to make sure that if anything happened, I picked somebody you approved of – like I'd do anything else."

Sirius scoffed at the very notion, and Harry only grinned.

"So when is Headmaster Albus coming?"

"Nine o'clock – and it's still..."

Sirius peered over Harry's head toward the clock and then let his head _thunk_ against the back of the couch dramatically.

"It's still only seven thirty!"

Harry laughed, and Sirius ruffled his hair.

"Come on, pup, let's see about some breakfast and then you can go harass your cousin into getting up."

"Waffles!"

"Waffles – you _always_ want waffles."

"And treacle tart -"

"For breakfast? Interesting choice..."

"With bacon."

"..."

Harry shrugged.

"Dudley's going to want some."

"Dudley better watch it, he hasn't got the Potter eating gene's and he's going to blow up like a balloon when he hits puberty."

"Puberty?"

"..."

"Padfoot?"

"Never mind, Harry, I refuse to deal with that until happens – you just...go get your cousin, I can smell the bacon already."

Harry's snickers came echoing down the stairwell as he went up.

* * *

><p>AN: . A chapter. For all of ye. WOO! I think I've finally got a handle on balancing fanfic and OS, joy is me! I'm working on the uh...play date of doom currently, so once again, here's hoping that there won't be a huge delay - but rest easy, oh readers, for you are not forgotten! To all of you who review, an extra special thanks, and I hope you enjoy this installment!

Please Review!


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